


Gemini

by xof1013



Category: La Femme Nikita
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Boys in Chains, Dom/sub, Drama, First Time, M/M, Mission Fic, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-27
Updated: 2010-08-27
Packaged: 2017-10-11 06:54:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xof1013/pseuds/xof1013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Section One sends Michael out with Birkoff on a mission that will change both their lives and their relationship. Massive heat ensues...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gemini

**Author's Note:**

> Italized words are character thoughts. Oh, and spoilers for all episodes through mid-third season.

Gemini  
written by Xof

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Madeline stood quietly at the side of Operations as they gazed at the activity below in Section One. All the operatives moved with separate yet compatible rhythms, each undertaking their orchestrated tasks with efficiency. Madeline noticed not for the first time how like a dance it all appeared when viewed with some distance . . . a deceptive serenity in the orderliness of a cold world. Section's world.

Operations broke the silence, "Do you think this will work?"

Madeline responded with the qualified care she always did. "The intel is valid and this may be our only chance to breach Ivanoff's network of operatives. We cannot afford to disregard the opportunity."

"Yes, but how do you think those two will respond given the assignment's criteria? This is unusual even for our operatives."

"I agree. At first, our people will be surprised . . . and reluctant. Michael will accept the circumstances as he always does. It will be up to him to guide them both through this mission. He will be their source of strength, not only by necessity - but also by his own sense of guardianship. As for the other . . . fear is the mother of invention. As is anticipation of discipline. The mindset will be to avoid abeyance due to past . . . indiscretions." Madeline paused for effect. "Besides, this may be just what they both need at the moment . . . a set of boundaries through which they can relieve anxiety and find a sense of release in the semblance of their assigned roles."

Operations stood looking at her with a slight smile that did not reach his eyes. "And if it effects their ability to function on future assignments? As you've pointed out before, Michael has developed an attachment to Nikita. How will this effect the overall flow of them as a team?"

"Nikita will be given down time. Any inquiry about their absence will be explained away as a mission requirement . . . additional information will be withheld. It would be best to kept the details of this mission quiet, except for those actively involved. The less that's volunteered the better."

Operations nodded his agreement. "Have Nikita's time begin immediately. We need to isolate the operatives so they can begin their . . . honeymoon shall we say?"

Madeline smiled with amusement. "Indoctrination . . . you mean. And as to whether they will adapt to each other and their circumstances . . . they may surprise even themselves."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Madeline entered Section Command quietly, but not unnoticed. Michael sensed her presence as she neared him. He straightened his stance in a subconscious manner of defensiveness. It was his almost imperceptible way of preparing himself for whatever possible news and commands Madeline or Operations gave him. As he stood over Birkoff's shoulder, he noticed how the younger man's shoulders slumped as he too notice her approach.

Michael's eyes lifted from Birkoff's computer to acknowledge Madeline's approach.

"Michael, are you almost through with tactical?"

"Yes. The mission was a success. One loss, but the target was destroyed." His voice was level, laced with the raspy calm of a man in control of his emotions if not his fate.

With a nod of her head Madeline asked, "Who?"

"Leeds. He was caught by sniper fire as he exited the barracks."

"And the intel proved . . ." She let the question hang in the air. Birkoff's spine stiffened noticeably. He looked as if he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Michael looked at the back of Birkoff's head. Raising his gaze to her's he said, "It proved most effective. All contingencies were covered."

"Yet one operative was lost." She stood waiting for Michael's response. It was an attempt to discover how protective he would be towards Section's resident genius.

The tension that radiated off Birkoff's body was an almost tangible thing. While he was waiting for Michael's response, Birkoff was trying desperately to appear calm and under control . . . a difficult task for someone who's imaging the sound of death's knell ringing in his head.

Michael gave Madeline one of his blank-faced looks. His response held an almost child-like tone . . . as if the answer was obvious, "The intel did indicate the likelihood of sniper fire in that section of the barracks. Leeds was caught bringing up the rear when he chose to return fire instead of retreating to cover." The operative was starting to wonder why Madeline was having this conversation now instead of after the debriefing of the mission team. Usually such an issue would be raised first in private between himself, Operations, and Madeline before being brought to anyone else's attention. She seemed to be playing off Birkoff's physical reactions to her questions and his answers. The question was why was such a mental tennis match necessary.

"Well . . . that proved a poor choice on Leeds' part. When you are done here, I need a moment with you. I'll expect you in my office at 1100 hours." She turned to leave. As she did, Birkoff released an audible sigh as his body began to relax. Madeline waited a moment and then turned back to them, "Both of you . . . that is."

Michael watched her leave then looked over at Birkoff. The young man looked anxious. "Eleven hundred hours it is," he said as he turned to leave as well.

Birkoff waited long enough for Michael to be out of hearing distance and then sighed, "Yeah, I'll be there with bell's on."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Birkoff walked slowly towards Madeline's office. It was only 10:40 but he figured the last thing he needed was to arrive late. There has been too many missteps on his part lately to make even the slightest mistake now. He'd been irresponsible the last few months. Birkoff forced himself to list those moments as he had many times before, always in an attempt not to relapse into ineptitude yet again. He'd tried to blackmail Operations (Walter's idea of course but he'd followed along like an over-eager puppy desperate for a treat). He'd mistakenly pulled an unauthorized weapon on Operations in his misguided effort to stay alive after being threatened by an operative he'd recommended be put in abeyance. And last. . . he'd been seduced by a terrorist posing as Nikita and thereby caused a major security breach.

Hell, he didn't know why he wasn't already in abeyance. Yes - he was an important part of Section One's team but with all these things happening in so short a time span . . . surely his special talents were beginning to pale in comparison to his mistakes. He knew he'd already been punished but losing down-time and weekends just seemed too small for Section's idea of checks and balances. Birkoff realized he was now in an almost constant state of paranoia. He checked every profile and every sim at least four and sometimes five times whereas before he'd been so confident in his work that anything over two attempts he'd considered overkill. He hardly spoke to anyone anymore, constantly afraid he'd say the wrong thing or express an opinion that would bring him the wrong type of attention. Except for work related topics, he'd also stopped talking to Walter. He felt isolated even from himself.

And now there was this meeting with Michael and Madeline. Birkoff was hoping that Michael's earlier comments had relieved any doubts as to his performance during the mission. She had seemed satisfied when she left, but then why was she calling a meeting before any of the team members had been debriefed? The only reason he could think of was that Madeline had something other than the current mission to discuss with them. The fact that this meeting was making him extremely nervous did not escape his notice either. Normally, he entered these sessions without a second's concern, certain that he'd be able to accomplish the tasks they set for him as he'd always done in the past.

And now his every step was weighed down with trepidation.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Michael had already reached Madeline's office by the time Birkoff arrived. Madeline calmly watched them both as they each entered, indicating that they should be seated. She couldn't help but think that this was going to prove one of the more interesting briefings she'd ever given.

Madeline kept her eyes on her terminal as she started the mission profile. She was privately monitoring changes in their body temperatures to gauge each man's response to her words. Her ability to anticipate their reactions to the mission's criteria would help her present the facts in such as way as to forestall negativity.

"We've been presented with an opportunity to infiltrate Red Cell through one of their outside sources. The operative's name is Sergei Ivanoff." She paused to look at Michael for acknowledgment of the name.

Michael spoke softly, "Ivanoff's name has been mentioned by several Red Cell operatives we've interrogated in recent years. He acts as a go-between for Red Cell and their allies in the East."

Madeline continued, "That is correct . . . but it now seems his interests with Red Cell are more complex . . . more intricate than we've supposed. He's always been able to maintain a level of anonymity which indicates he has a large power base upon which to hide.

"Besides acting as negotiator for Red Cell, Ivanoff helps fund terrorist activity in Northern Africa and the Sudan. He also funds research in biological warfare. He's motivation is money. He is staunchly a-political . . . the highest bidder wins. His connections in the terrorist world make him highly valuable to Section."

Madeline paused a second before rising to pour herself a cup of tea. The implication was definitely clear. Section One wanted Ivanoff alive and well. Errors made during his extraction would be dealt with a sharp hand. For Michael this would be a matter of some concern . . . for Birkoff it would almost certainly mean abeyance.

Birkoff looked over towards Michael with a hesitant motion, then looked down at the floor.

Michael asked, "Where is Ivanoff located?"

Madeline returned to her desk, giving them both a small smile. "Ironically, for someone who is a-political . . . he is in Switzerland."

She noticed a slight easing of the tension, especially now that Birkoff was again looking directly at her instead of the floor. Time to drop the bomb. She keyed up the photograph of Ivanoff. He was a man in his late forties, with a roughed appearance. He had long black hair and a large athletic build.

"His personality runs towards extremes, filled with both contradictions and eccentricities. He has been likened to Caligula in both his paranoia and his proclivities. Ivanoff is a man who has built a world around himself and his safety. His stronghold resembles a medieval fortress, always heavily guarded. His staff acts as his surrogate family, all are highly trusted and whose loyalty have been repeatedly tested over the years. Testing seems to be one of his hobbies. Passing a test means gaining a rung on his ladder of total trust . . . the problem being that only he knows just how many tests (i.e. rungs) are needed to earn the prize.

"Ivanoff tests people's limits . . . both in business and pleasure. He feeds on the intensity of public displays and is most assuredly a voyeur. Testing his people's sexual limits gives him a greater insight into their overall characters. The man is reportedly bisexual with a predilection for Domination without the added need for S/M. He is experienced in many forms of sexual expression and lacks any sense of personal modesty. Although he is himself unattached, Ivanoff does respect monogamy in couples who have committed to each other. Apparently, he feels this shows personal loyalty winning over natural selection. Expressing strength of character in the sacrifice of one's basic sexual needs for one's partner." Madeline looked over to Michael and Birkoff, judging how they were responding to the profile thus far.

Michael knew that Madeline would not be going into such detail about Ivanoff's sexual preferences unless it was important to the mission's success. Still the necessity had him intrigued. "His lack of trust causes him to be denied a commitment he sees in other."

"Precisely, which is why he now lacks a committed partner himself."

Michael hazard to say, "Then the mission criteria is based on the need to find someone he'll be able to trust as such a partner?"

Madeline knew Michael was thinking this would be a long term deep cover assignment, not unlike his own 'marriage' to Elaina. "It was considered . . . yes, but a deep cover mission has since been ruled out as a viable option. Our intel indicates Ivanoff would not be receptive to such a match.

"Five years ago, he in fact found a partner he could commit to . . . his self-described soul mate. The young man's name was Armand Devon. Not much is known about his past. They met in Nice after Ivanoff liberated Armand from a now deceased former contact. Armand shared Ivanoff's love of D/s and was completely enamored with his 'savior.' They were together for three years until Armand was kidnaped and murdered by members of the Russian Mafia in retaliation for a deal that went bad.

"By all reports, Ivanoff was devastated by the loss. He has removed all traces of Armand from his home and refuses to discuss him. His control issues, mixed with the intensity of his continued grief make a deep cover mission unlikely to succeed."

Michael looked towards Birkoff, who seemed very intent on Madeline's next words. Michael then turned his gaze towards the profiler and asked, "So the alternative is . . ."

"Ivanoff has made inquires about expanding his interests into techno-terrorism. Specifically, he needs a hacker . . . someone with the ability to plan and execute counter intelligence raids."

Michael replied, "Sending an operative in will not invite his trust. A new recruit would only be viewed with suspicion . . . not trust."

Madeline smiled enigmatically. "That is why we will send in a couple - committed with a preference for D/s. One will act as the hacker and the other as the strategist." She rose from behind the desk, letting her words be absorbed by the two operatives as she walked over to a large view screen.

"This was Armand Devon."

The room suddenly fell into absolute silence as they looked at the image of the young man Ivanoff had loved. He was sitting on the grass in a forest setting. The sun shone against his naked chest and legs as he relaxed back against the figure of Sergei Ivanoff. The photo was obviously taken without them being aware of the camera's presence . . . still the clarity of their figures was crystal. Armand was leaning into Ivanoff's embrace, his tanned skin left uncovered except for a pair of black bicycle shorts . . . standing in sharp contrast to the fully clothed body of his lover. His long blonde hair fell in waves over his left shoulder, reaching down several inches past his collar bone. Armand's face was slightly turned into Ivanoff's chest without hiding his open mouthed smile. His eyes were half closed without shielding the pleasure he was feeling . . . almost as if he were being whispered to about intimate things. He looked all of only seventeen, despite being in his mid-twenties. His body glowed with the inner radiance of a man in love. The only problem was . . .

"oh god . . ."

Birkoff's whisper echoed despite the quiet hesitancy with which it was released. The only problem was that Armand Devon - despite the added years, the long hair, the tanned skin and the expressive smile - was an almost perfect double for Seymour Birkoff.

"Precisely." Madeline looked back towards them both. Michael was slowly closing his slightly opened mouth; one of the rarest expressions of surprise she'd seen on his face. Birkoff was looking as pale as it is humanly possible to be and still be alive. He was obviously stunned but more shown through his eyes than astonishment . . . it was fear. The emotion wasn't mixed with worry, that would come later she was sure as would nervousness and intimidation. Pure terror would be an apt description.

"How? I . . . it can't . . ." Birkoff quickly found he was incapable of speech.

Michael broke the studdered words with his own question. "Is Devon a relative?"

Madeline turned her body and crossed her arms as she completed Devon's story. "There is no indication from our intel that Armand Devon is a close relative of Birkoff's. It may be possible that they are distant relatives but Devon's background isn't fully documented. He was English, born probably twenty-seven years ago. The photo was taken three months before his disappearance, two years ago. What information we lack regarding his past does not prevent us from knowing there is not a close relation to Birkoff. His background and family heritage are fully mapped and recorded."

Birkoff couldn't take his eyes from the image. Seeing one's self and yet not seeing yourself in your own image was extremely disconcerting. He did manage to offer one word into the discussion.

"Doppelganger."

Michael looked at the young man. Then nodded as he said, "The theory that every person on Earth has an identical twin. Identical in image or in spirit but not by blood."

"Yes . . . well. If you'll both look closely the differences are apparent. Devon's eyes were green, not brown. He was a natural blonde with long hair. His nose was longer. And he was almost six years Birkoff's senior and reportedly five inches taller. He also possessed a tatoo on the left side of his throat at the nape, an acknowledgment of his love for Ivanoff. But the most apparent difference comes from the intel itself. He had a very gregarious personality. Always smiling, flirting, and laughing at his own jokes. More of a fiery flame than an intellectual paragon."

"Intellectual paragon . . ." Birkoff spoke softly, his tone filled with confusion.

Madeline looked at him directly. "It is your best talent."

Once the surprise began to fade, Michael began to wonder exactly what other talents of Birkoff's Section was going to be utilizing besides his brain. "A couple?"

Birkoff's gaze quickly turned in the operative's direction then darted to Madeline. The dreadful pieces of the puzzle now starting to assemble.

Madeline switched image off and returned to her seat. "The mission will go as follows. You will both assume the appearance of a committed homosexual couple. Michael will be the strategist combined with Birkoff's technological expertise. You have been a couple for over one year, practicing Domination and Submission without the desire to inflict pain. Your commitment is strong and not swayed by temptation. The objective of this arrangement is to disorient Ivanoff through the physical similarities to Devon while simultaneously downplaying them. No attempt will be made to alter Birkoff's appearance."

"But, I'm not . . . I haven't ever . . ." Birkoff was feeling overwhelmed by the enormity of his situation. Not only were they sending him on an active assignment as an operative when he'd rarely even left Section for the last year or more. They were telling him he had to pretend to have a relationship with Michael while under the watchful eye of a voyeuristic terrorist. He felt sick.

With nervous energy coursing through his body, Birkoff sat up straight. He quickly glanced at Michael's face, looking directly into his eyes. Finding only neutrality in the operative's expression, he switched his widely opened eyes to Madeline. As the full impact of his situation began to make itself felt, he started to speak in a halted manner . . . almost as if with a stutter, "You, you mean you want me to . . . I'm not . . . not qualified . . . And with Michael . . . I . . . I . . ."

Privately, Madeline was slightly amused by Birkoff's reaction. He sounded as if he couldn't decide which actuality was the most unnerving . . . being in the field or being intimate with Michael. Both were events she was sure he'd never thought would touch his encapsulated life.

"Birkoff . . . let me make this as clear as possible for you. You will operate in the field as a team. You will impersonate a relationship between you both and to that end . . . you will have to become sexually involved for the course of this mission." She watched as Birkoff became very still. His mouth was slightly opened in astonishment and his gaze quickly fell to the floor.

Turning to Michael, she read the acceptance in his expression. He understood the necessity of the mission's parameters. Still . . . Madeline knew that further discussion would help ease him into his own role as Dom, as protector and as mate. "Michael, as you know from past assignments . . . the forced appearance of intimacy between two operatives can be awkward in the beginning and fatal if not convincing. Familiarity in sexual matters between heterosexuals lends itself to the illusion of love. To be frank, Birkoff . . . you have little to no experience with same sex relations, correct?"

After another moment of staring at his shoes, Birkoff slowly shook his head in the affirmative.

Madeline continued, "That mixed with no practical knowledge of the facts of a D/s relationship are detrimental to the success of this mission. You both must work to build a compelling facade to convince Ivanoff of your commitment. You have three days before the initial contact is to be made. In that time, you will both be confined to Michael's residence. While this leaves you both little time to prepare, it will be sufficient time to establish the intimacy required. Final details will be provided to you before you leave for the meet."

She paused to look over the two men. Birkoff looked slightly shell-shocked and Michael looked . . . resigned. "That will be all." She watched as they slowly started stood to leave. When they neared the door she said, "Birkoff, kiss Michael."

He stopped and turned to her. "Here? I . . . "

"Birkoff. Just do it." Michael's voice was soft and patient. He remained still as Birkoff slowly looked up at his face, first in his eyes and then at his mouth. The young man moved towards him tentatively, reaching up to brush his lips against Michael's.

As his lips moved softly over Michael's, Birkoff released a small sigh. He was doing it . . . kissing a man. No, kissing Michael. Feeling the soft texture of his skin, the light rasp of his chin and seeing into the depths of his eyes. He'd always heard of people feeling as if their lives had flashed across their eyes . . . he felt it now, only it wasn't his life he witnessed. He closed his eyes tightly as the image of their kiss flooded his consciousness, reflecting as if in a hall of mirrors as it invaded his mind.

And then Michael kissed him back, gently with an easy glide that seemed to pay tribute to the hesitant innocence of Birkoff's kiss. The operative's touch brought warmth to their kiss . . . leaving a fiery trail as Michael ended the kiss with the barest sweep of his tongue across Birkoff's bottom lip.

Michael turned back to Madeline, "Will that be all?"

Madeline looked at Birkoff's flushed face, at how he was staring at Michael's profile with an expression of awe on his face. It was a good start. "Yes, that is all for now."

She watched as they turned to leave, noticing Birkoff seemed a little unsteady on his feet. Then an amazing thing happened. Michael placed his right hand on Birkoff's waist to help steady him up the stairs, quickly removing it there after.

For Madeline, the gesture was significant enough to take note, while for both Michael and Birkoff . . . it would come back to haunt them.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

If there was a realm of impossible situations beyond the twight-light zone, Birkoff was sure he was in it. Being guided through by his new "Dom" made it all the more bizarre. What was Section thinking? This set up went against so many mission parameters that . . .

He had to stop himself a moment. Birkoff wasn't trained for the field but Section had utilized the inexperienced before when it proved necessary. Section wasn't the most ideal place to get or find a sexual partner and yet they used the relationships that did develop for their own ends. He just couldn't figure out if this . . . . all of this was supposed to be equal parts punishment and/or second chance (or third or fourth).

_Stop it._

From the moment he'd left Madeline's office, every action and every step seemed surreal. First, he and Michael had stopped by his apartment to pick up the few things he'd need for the three days of . . .

_Oh Lord._ And if having Michael in his apartment hadn't been strange enough, he was now standing awkwardly just inside Michael's loft.

Birkoff could remember being enticed by Nikita to give her Michael's address. He'd never thought he'd ever be here . . . especially not for this. He watched Michael move slowly across the room; putting up his coat, sitting to take off his shoes and then leaning back to look at him.

_damn_

The young man decided to drop his bag by the door. He put his coat on the rack and then turned to face Michael.

Michael studied the nervous stance that Birkoff had taken across the room. His body was racked with the tension; his voice tinged with uncertainty. The young man looked all of seventeen, not unlike Armand Devon's youthful appearance. Michael decided to end the virtual silence they'd maintained since they'd left Section. "Birkoff, come here."

He approached slowly to stand at Michael's right next to the sofa. Michael deliberately looked at his face, then traveled down his body. It was the most overt appraisal he'd ever given Birkoff. His eyes traveled over Birkoff's face. Next down his neck to the hint of torso revealed by the V-necked grey sweater, over the flat chest and stomach . . . pausing at the slim waist and hips before gliding down the long legs. He would be soft, smooth and with the right amount of surrender . . . pliant to pleasure. Every emotion would echo through his eyes, face and the color of his pale skin. Madeline had been correct. They would have to actually be lovers for the believability to work. Dom/sub.

Michael slowly and deliberately spread his legs wide before saying, "There are rules to this game, Birkoff. You don't follow them, we will die." He waited for his words to register in Birkoff's eyes. Michael then reached over and placed his hand on Birkoff's waist, guiding him slowly until he stood between Michael's legs. "First, appearance is key. You are mine. To do with as I please, understood?"

Birkoff slowly nodded his head. His doe eyes widen as they focused on Michael's face.

"The correct response is 'Yes, Sir.'" Michael paused for his response.

"Yes, Sir," he whispered.

"Second, when I tell you to come to me, you will respond in one of two ways. If I am standing, you will move to stand at my back slightly to the right. If I am sitting, you will come to stand as you are now and then you will . . . " Michael pressed his hand downward on Birkoff's waist, indicating that his sub must kneel before him. "Your hands must remain clasped behind your back and eyes down."

Birkoff couldn't believe this was happening. He was on his knees before Michael being told to keep his eyes down, which in this position meant looking directly at Michael's fly.

Michael watched as the younger man's face began to flush. He raised his left hand up to Birkoff's cheek to lift the man's eyes to his. Michael's gaze glided over every accept of Birkoff's face. The soft skin, dark eyes and parted lips. He focused on that mouth . . . the lips were sweet and full. The operative traced his thumb over the bottom one, feeling as much as hearing the sharp gasp that escaped due to his touch. Moving his hand back down to Birkoff's neck, he studied the way Birkoff unconsciously licked his lips. Michael tightened his hold on his sub's waist and pulled his face to within an inch of his own.

It was the only warning Birkoff had as the man he knelt before suddenly entrapped him with a kiss. The kiss was breathtaking . . . literally. He felt completely swept up in the milieu of Michael's passionate embrace. It was the complete antithesis of their first kiss. Whereas that had been slow, gentle and sweet . . . this one was quick, hot and intended to enthrall.

Birkoff struggled to keep his hands behind his back. He wanted to touch Michael but all he could do was submit to the storm. He'd wondered if there was such fire locked inside the calmly reserved man . . . and now he felt its heat. And as he did, one word echoed through his mind building in intensity until it escaped from him in a moan as Michael drew back from the kiss, "Yours . . ."

Birkoff watched as the veil of neutrality slipped from Michael's face. He was suddenly in the arms of a man he'd never seen before . . . a man whose eyes were bright with desire, alight with gentleness while at the same time fierce with the sense of power that he now held over the younger man. Seeing these emotions run through Michael's lion eyes was confusing, but intensely arousing. Birkoff knew that he wanted this man. He wanted to be touched . . . to be claimed by him. It's just a mission. But no, it was turning out to be so much more.

Michael leaned in to whisper against Birkoff's ear, "Have you ever been touched by a man?"

Birkoff felt his arousal quicken. "No."

"How many women?"

"Two . . . and Nik . . . I mean, ah . . ."

Michael watched Birkoff as he stopped in embarrassment. "And the faux-Nikita?"

"Yes, sir."

Again Michael kissed Birkoff. This time it held the skill of a practiced seducer, drawing him in as Michael's tongue caressed his own. He felt Michael's hands slide around to stroke his back. They moved to release his hands, then down to feel his ass. He loved the way that felt. Having Michael virtually wrapped around him, playing him as smoothly as he could imagine him playing the cello that he'd seen across the room as he'd first entered.

Abruptly Michael drew back from him, removing his hands. "Stand up and turn around."

He did as commanded. Yes, a command from his Dom . . . his mate. _Oh._ When he was fully turned, he saw something that shocked him. On the far wall was a bank of mirrors, like in a dance studio. They stood five across and at lease seven feet high. The entire room was doubled in size by their reflection. But the interesting affect was lost on Birkoff as he stood there . . . looking at himself and Michael.

They looked ferial. Michael stood up against his back, motioning him forward to the mirrors. "It's one thing to experience the touch of another, but to see it happening is an additional pleasure." He ran his hands down Birkoff's arms, stopping to clasp the smaller hands in his own. "Take off your clothes."

Michael quickly placed his fingers against Birkoff's lips to forestall any obvious comments he wanted to make. "You are my lover, my sub and my partner. You enjoy being looked at by me. You enjoy pleasing me. When we are together, you see yourself through my eyes as I see myself through yours. Everything and everyone else watching is secondary." Michael took his hand from Birkoff's mouth, moving to caress his neck. "My eyes on you are all that matters. You must get used to being naked in my presence. Your blushes must turn from self-consciousness into the flush of familiarity . . . of need."

Birkoff looked at Michael's reflection. He knew that Michael was right. Still, he'd never done this before. He'd never deliberately stripped off his clothes for a male lover. He tried to take a matter-of-fact attitude about it as he raised his hands to remove his shirt. Unfortunately, being blaise doesn't work when you're so nervous and aroused that you feel like you're going to pass out at any moment. He ended up opening the buttons on his grey shirt but failed to remove it successfully when he forgot to unbutton the sleeves. His determination faltered in the face of trying to take off the garment as it hugged his hips, trapped on his wrists. Birkoff stopped for a moment, feeling absolutely mortified.

Michael decided to help Birkoff finish the task. "Easy, luv." The 'luv' comment halted the younger man's struggle to free his hands. _It's the mission . . . just the mission._

"Look at me." Michael waited until Birkoff complied. "Later I'm going to show you how to properly undress before your Dom. Ivanoff will have the rooms monitored for all activity. Both in private and in public, we will continue to play the game." He slowly moved down to remove Birkoff's shoes and socks, pausing afterwards to place a small kiss on the uncovered feet. While still crouched down, he ran his hands up the front of Birkoff's legs, over the black denim . . . stopping as his hands reached his sub's groin. As he started to caress the hardened flesh underneath, he looked up at Birkoff. "For me . . ."

Birkoff bit back a load groan as he felt Michael's hand playing over his groin. He managed to rasp out a quiet, "Yes, sir."

Michael looked up at him, taking in the quick breaths and the flushed skin. He began to caress the enticing swelling beneath his hand. Birkoff's eyes closed briefly, overwhelmed by the intensity of his own response to Michael's touch. Abruptly his "Dom" stopped the motion of his hand . . . pressing intently against the young man's erection to gain his full attention. As Birkoff's eyes snapped open in surprise, the operative rose from his crouched position.

He came to stand behind Birkoff, leaning into and against his back. The feel of Michael's body against his own . . . Birkoff was quickly becoming totally transfixed by him. He let out a small sound . . . a moan as he felt Michael's teeth nibble at his right ear, the tongue teasing along the curve before he spoke . . . their gazes locked together in the reflection of the mirror.

"One learns best by doing. The sooner you can relax around me, can share your body with me the safer we both will be from Ivanoff. Hesitation and embarrassment must be overcome through participation. As my sub, you can only be convincing through total submission to my desires." Michael's hands clasped Birkoff's hips pulling his body back, his ass against Michael's groin. The Dom began to sensuously roll his own hips against Birkoff, watching as his sub pressed back into his body . . . closing his eyes and opening his mouth.

"Open your eyes." Michael's words caressed his ear. Birkoff opened his eyes . . . and saw the picture of truth before him, even as it was shrouded by the facade of their roles. He wanted this, to surrender to Michael . . . to be taken by him. Even without the needs for the mission, he wanted to please this man.

Michael saw the storm in Birkoff's eyes as he wantonly began moving his hips in time with Michael's own. "Take off your clothes for me slowly." He stepped back to give the man room to disrobe, pausing briefly to glide his hand lightly over Birkoff's behind.

Birkoff lifted his hands to his sleeve buttons, undoing them one by one . . . his gaze never leaving Michael's face. He watched as the man who was to be his lover followed his every movement, tracking each motion like a hunter on the prowl. _He's already caught me._ He pulled off the shirt, letting it slowly glide down his back and onto the floor . . . revealing the smooth beauty of his pale skin touched with the flush of his arousal and the small tips of his nipples. _Be brave, be brave . . . no, be procative._ Birkoff lightly ran his fingers across his own chest, tracing his collarbone and moving down over the erect nibs. He gasped at his own touch . . . at the sparkle his actions caused to shine in Michael's eyes. _He likes this._ His touch traced downward until it stopped at his waistband. Birkoff licked his lips, pausing to shore up his raw nerves. Then he moved to open the belt and zipper to his pants. He folded back the fabric to reveal the light grey cotton of his shorts and then stopped altogether. With a quick breath, Birkoff slid both articles to the floor, stepping out of them quickly before he lost his courage.

Michael watched intently as Birkoff unconsciously lowered his arms to hug his own hips . . . not hiding his erection from view but as if they were struggling not to do so. He was so very beautiful standing there. His ivory skin glowing in sensual contrast to the darken colors all around him. The operative drew his gaze down over Birkoff's smooth back, his slim waist, hips and came to rest on the perfection of his behind. Small round mounds of youthful flesh that he wanted to run his hands over, his tongue to taste and his cock to . . . well, that would come.

Birkoff pressed back against the firm length of Michael's body. As his lover (_oh god_) returned his attention to the young man's face, Birkoff asked shyly, "What do I do . . . to please you?"

Michael gently moved his hands up the smooth expanse of Birkoff's back, coming to rest lightly on his shoulders. "You are beautiful, Birkoff. It is time for you to embrace the sensuality of your own body. I want you to pleasure yourself for me. Feel my eyes on you as you touch your skin. Perform for me."

Birkoff tried to ignore the anxiety that command caused him by bravely facing his own aroused image. He looked pale against Michael's dark clothing, but he was comforted by his Dom's own ivory features . . . testament to the time they both spent underground at Section. His face and troat were flushed a light rose. His mouth was slightly swollen having thus far been well kissed. He ran his fingers over his lips, his left hand traveling across his chest to grasp Michael's in a 'palmer's kiss.' He continued to hold his lover's hand as he moved his other down his chest, lightly caressing his nipples. Birkoff moaned softly as the nibs peaked in response to his touch. His right hand continued down across his waist to his right hip and back, feeling the warmth of Michael's body against his hand and ass. He pressed the back of his fingers against Michael's hardness before moving around to tease his own dark curls.

Michael was slightly surprised by his own response to Birkoff's slow tease, by the sudden release of hesitance in Birkoff and by his own desire to touch . . . to take the one he'd never known he would desire. He had to release the firm clasp on the younger man's hand just to keep his own need to interrupt his self-exploration at bay. The motion caused Birkoff to stop just as he was about to take himself in hand.

He looked questioningly at Michael. "Didn't I . . . "

"Shh . . . Birkoff." Michael moved in towards him, putting his hands around Birkoff's hips. "Lean into me. I will be your anchor." As they pressed together Michael continued, "Now touch your cock. Show me how you like to be taken."

As if from a distance, Birkoff saw himself take his cock in hand for Michael. The touch was familiar and yet . . . so strangely more enhanced. Everything was electric. His skin was hyper-sensitive to every stroke of his hand and every brush of Michael's body. His moans were echoing through the room. So close . . . "Please. Oh sir, please."

Michael fought to stay focused on Birkoff's responses instead of his own need for release. He watched with a sense of wonder that was foreign to him at the picture of Birkoff's pleasure. The heady sounds, the husky tone of his voice as he begged to be allowed to cum. Total surrender to the moment.

"Do it. Come for me."

Birkoff sped up the motion of his hand as the sweet sting of white lightening surged through his body. His sharp cry escaped as the warm wet heat erupted over his fingers. He whispered, "Michael. Oh god, Michael," as he lost the strength to stand on his shaking legs. Just before he slid to the floor Michael caught him up in his arms, holding him securely against his chest.

Michael gently guided the shaken young man over to the sofa, arranging it so they were sitting sideways with Birkoff pressed back against his chest. He caressed the bared skin of his sub's side coming to rest at his hip - mirroring his gesture earlier at Section. Watching Birkoff come apart had been both beautiful and moving. The latter was troublesome. Michael had expected that as part of his role he would need to treat Birkoff with a sense of ease, affection, possessiveness, command and care. He knew that this level of shared intimacy would forever change their dynamic. But the possibility that he might find a deeper connection . . . an emotional attachment for the man in his arms was at best disconcerting and at worst could prove deadly to them both. He tried to reason that the loss of Adam had left him with a need to protect, but . . .

Michael knew this was more than just another assignment for Section. It was a test for them both. Once again they were puppets on strings waiting to see if or when the tethers would break or be broken. Michael's thoughts cleared at the sound of his name.

"Michael." Birkoff knew he was whispering but it seemed the only tone acceptable in so fragile a moment. He moved his fingers over the legs that framed his own, stretched out in front of them. "What about you? I didn't . . ."

Michael interrupted, "You will . . . later. We need to talk first."

Birkoff waited for him to continue.

"I'm going to tell you some things you will need to know for the mission. I have in the past been involved in various aspects for D/s. It was during my first year as an active operative. Section knew I was bisexual and that Dominance was a role I'd be able to adapt to easily. The mission details aren't important. What you need to know is that is was not a fly-by-night assignment. I stayed in the scene long enough to become quite proficient."

Michael waited for Birkoff to digest this information, then began again. As he spoke Michael smoothed his free hand over Birkoff's head and down his neck. "A Dominant/submissive relationship can take numerous forms. The more extreme involve Sadomasochism but for our roles I don't find that to be necessary. Considering what we know about Ivanoff's relationship, I believe carrying on a pretense of loved based on pain would be a mistake. Love and surrender is the key. Your commitment to me is based on the surrender of self. But you are to be only submissive, not subservient. I am not a god to be worshiped and you should not appear to be a lamb being led to the slaughter. This is about love and partnership. Personally submissive but equal in business. Do not act as though one role over shadows the other."

Moving his hands slowly over Birkoff's chest, Michael lazily played with his nipples as he talked. "Training a sub is an intense and never-ending process. You already have the ability to seem unphased in most situations. Once the newness wears off and our complete intimacy is established, you'll be able to utilize that to our advantage. The best thing I can say is to expect the unexpected as always. Trust me in all that I ask. Obey me and look like you're in love. The rest will work itself out."

He stopped briefly, wanting to give Birkoff an opportunity to ask any questions he might have. Reaching down to take the man's hands in each of his own, Michael asked, "What are you thinking?"

Birkoff could help but smile. "That is the most I've ever heard you say in one sitting."

The quiet laughter that moved through Michael's chest and burst out against Birkoff's ear made the younger man's smile widen. "I . . . " He stopped as if he were afraid to speak.

"Tell me."

"I hadn't thought that I would like . . . it so much." His voice was a whisper again.

Michael squeezed his hand before asking, "Had you thought about men before?"

"Just . . . hmm, only one."

Michael could tell from the returning flush over Birkoff's face that the answer could be a dangerous one, but still he asked, "Who was the man you desired?"

After a pause the young man slowly turned around on the sofa until he was kneeling between Michael's outstretched legs. Looking into his face, Birkoff replied, "You." He self-consciously faced his clothed lover. He dared to look into Michael's eyes, feeling the rise of warmth caused by the intensity of his gaze.

Michael lightly traced the curve of Birkoff's lips. "How do I make you feel?"

He opened his lips to lick at Michael's fingers, trying to convey the need he felt. He nibbled a path down to place a kiss on the palm before whispering softly, "Conflicted. Wary. Aroused. And . . ."

"And?" Michael's hand moved down to grasp Birkoff behind the head . . . drawing him closer.

"Protected," Birkoff rasped before his mouth was captured by Michael's again. Once he was free to speak he asked, "May I touch you?"

Michael saw the shy eagerness in Birkoff's face. There was also hunger in his eyes that quickened Michael's own pulse. Surprisingly so . . . "Yes," he said with the clipped huskiness he'd always seemed to use for Nikita.

Birkoff slowly removed Michael's black shirt, revealing the smooth but firm expanse of the operative's chest. When he was bared to the waist, Birkoff stopped. He moved his hands across Michael's skin, savoring the warmth and friction of the caress. He played lightly over the nipples that hardened. His lover leaned back, arching slightly upwards to meet Birkoff's touch. Suddenly it was all too much. He moved down quickly . . . imprisoning Michael's nipple in his mouth causing the other man to sigh deeply. Birkoff felt Michael's hands on his head, guiding him as he moved from one nipple to the other. The taste . . . lord but how good Michael tasted. And then Michael whispered, "Bite them softly."

Birkoff heard Michael release a small hiss as he nipped at his Dom's chest. He moaned softly as Michael pressed his head downward. Birkoff glided his tongue over the ribs and across the taunt abdomen, pressing his face into Michael's stomach while his hands moved to the pants below. To cover his own hesitancy, Birkoff slowly placed teasing kisses above the length of the waistband before he opened the fastening.

Michael raised his hips, allowing Birkoff to remove the last articles of clothing from his overheated body. He was already aroused . . . the sensation of Birkoff's breath against his erection only added fire to his need. He watched with anticipation as Birkoff moved closer to his sex; feeling an irrational sense of pride that he was the first the young man would ever taste.

"Do it."

Birkoff felt a little trepidation at the command. It wasn't fear or disgust. He truly wanted to please Michael, to feel his cock in his mouth . . . but he felt insecure in his inexperience. He'd only received such an intimate possession a couple of times when he'd been so over-stimulated that it hadn't lasted long. Birkoff lifted his gaze to see Michael lying back in a beautiful sprawl, the operative's eyes half open as he wet his lips with a quick swipe of his tongue. "Teach me . . . please."

Michael took his sub's hand and guided it down to his hard cock. He felt as much as heard the moan that first touch caused Birkoff. He bit back a sound as his young lover eagerly began stroking him as their fingers twined together around his heated flesh. The rhythm was hurried, caused by Birkoff's growing enthusiasm and Michael's soft vocal appreciation. Michael's blood seemed to catch fire as he saw Birkoff wet his lips . . . lost in concentration. Those full moist lips were a wet dream come true. He suddenly halted his own pleasure by removing their joined hands. Birkoff's reluctance to stop touching Michael was obvious but he complied.

"What do you want, Birkoff?"

"You. Sir, please," he whispered.

"Taste me."

Birkoff's breath caught in his throat. It was the command he'd been expecting, but just the thought that he was going to . . . wanted to . . . and with Michael! As he moved down his Dom's body, the image of how he must look at this moment flashed across his mind . . . himself naked and aroused as he wantonly moved to do his Dom's bidding . . . kneeling over Michael's groin as he brushed his lips across the head and down the sides. He licked slowly along the contours of Michael's desire. His own breathing was quickened by the eroticism of his own actions. And the feel . . . the taste of his lover. It was like nothing he'd ever imagined. The feel of his tongue rasping over the tip and down the shaft. The taste of the hot moisture of Michael's pre-cum. The way his Dom moved to enter his mouth, the rise of his hips as his voice sounded in a small moan. Birkoff moved with the rhythm of Michael's thrusts, amazed at his own ability to take his lover's cock without feeling consumed or overwhelmed. If anything, Birkoff realized he felt a tremendous sense of pride at being able to pleasure Michael in this way.

The rhythm continued as Birkoff moved slowly up and down the length of Michael's cock, accompanied by his Dom's sensual thrusts and the chorus of his quiet moans. Birkoff felt the glide of Michael's hands as they moved over his scalp and along his neck.

"Good. Now put your hand around the base and concentrate on the head as you stroke me."

After a moment, Michael took Birkoff's free hand in his, guiding it down between his spread thighs . . . stopping as Birkoff took Michael's balls into his palm. "Roll them gently as you . . ." His voice broke off as he felt Birkoff begin to work his cock and balls while teasing the head with his tongue.

Birkoff altered his motions, loving the way Michael's breathing held that ragged tone when he slowed his tongue's teasing strokes and the quickened motion of Michael's hips when he moved to take him in further. He wanted the sensation of having this man take his mouth to imprint itself in his memory. Finally, Birkoff took him deeply as he paused to hum softly around his Dom's hardness. The added vibration was enough to push Michael to the edge and over. He arched up into the warmth and wetness of Birkoff's mouth . . . spilling his seed with a harsh sound that growled forth unconsciously from his throat.

Birkoff felt as if quick-fire raced through his body as he took in all of Michael's essence, feeling it move over his tongue and down his throat. He released him once the flesh softened in satisfaction, quietly cleaning his lover's skin with small licks that were almost feline in quality. Then he laid his head on Michael's thigh as he listened to the man's breathing begin to return to normal. _wow_

Michael took in the comfortable sprawl of Birkoff's body as the younger man rested on his stomach with his head against the operative's thigh. He looked beautiful. Michael had not thought Birkoff would show such skill so quickly but the young man's enthusiasm to experience and please had completely over-shown any hesitancy he'd initially felt.

Quietly he said, "Come here." His voice held a tone of request rather than of command. Birkoff slowly rose from his languid position to strattle Michael's lap, facing him. Michael's eyes moved over his face, seeing the compliance in Birkoff's expression and the slightly swollen blush of his lips. He raised his hand to cup the young man's face, running his thumb over the swell of the bottom lip only to have Birkoff open and take it into his mouth.

As he suckled Michael's thumb, Birkoff moved to press his renewed erection against Michael's abdomen. The excitement of Michael's response to his touch had aroused him to an almost fevered pitch. He looked into the storm of Michael's eyes as he continued to rock against him.

"You're close again."

Hearing Michael's soft comment made Birkoff gasp, "Yes sir. Oh . . . please."

Michael pulled his sub to him, capturing his mouth fiercely. His hands moved to Birkoff's hips, increasing the friction necessary for Birkoff to lose himself in passion once again. Michael murmured into their shared kisses, "I want you to come against me. Give in to how this feels." With those words, Michael reached down to softly massage his slick thumb against Birkoff's anus. The young man gasped sharply, his body surging upwards and back . . . caught between the dual stimuli.

Breaking from their kiss, Birkoff roughly whispered Michael's name as he came. "Michael . . . uhh ahh. Oh Michael."

Michael held Birkoff close as the warmth of the climax touched his skin. The slender body was wracked with tremors as Birkoff tried to catalogue his volatile emotions. _Just a mission . . ._ He felt so overwhelmed. This wasn't supposed to feel like this. So good. He'd just experienced a level of intimacy that seemed to have stripped him of all his shields. He'd never felt more open, more naked in his entire life. And for someone who works in Section, that was an unusual level of emotional vulnerability. _We haven't even . . . He hasn't taken . . ._ His body continued to shake as he tried to accept the intensity of his own desire to be taken by Michael. He wanted to be possessed by this man. _Lord._

Michael eased them both up until Birkoff was sitting in his lap. He softly kissed him, seeing the way the man's emotions warred against his mind. "Shh. Birkoff, let's go and clean up." He waited a moment for them both to regain their legs and then led Birkoff to the bathroom. After indicating that Birkoff should sit up on the counter by the lavatory, Michael ran a warm damp cloth over them both. The operative then moved over to the large black tub to draw a bath. Placing a light scented oil in the water, he stepped into its cradle of heat.

He watched as Michael eased back into the warm water, as his head leaned back against the tile and as his soft satisfied sigh filled the silence. His Dom . . . his lover opened his eyes and met his gaze. Michael raised his hand, offering to share the bath. The gesture was a small one but in that moment and in this place . . . it spoke to Birkoff's own sense of yearning. The desire to touch had yet to pass and he felt dangerously close to the revelation that it may never fade.

He slowly settled opposite Michael in the large tub, unconsciously drawing his knees up to rest his chin upon as he tried to gather his thoughts. He returned to the moment as Michael called his name.

"Birkoff."

The young man slowly shook his head. "No . . . not Birkoff. What's my cover name? I . . . need to be called by that."

"Why?"

Birkoff encircled his raised knees closely as he sought to explain. "It would make all this . . . easier. I need distance."

Michael nodded in understanding. "I'll check the profile after we eat."

They settled back into silence for several minutes. Birkoff began to relax, giving up his anxiety in favor of the slick glide of warm water against his skin. He was lulled into sleep briefly until he was roused by Michael leaving the tub.

"Stay for awhile. I'll fix dinner."

Once alone, Birkoff stretched out before slowly holding his breath as he submerged his torso and head. Lying suspended in this calm seemed to add to Birkoff's bemused mindset. Here he was in the intimate surroundings of a lover's home . . . a lover who was not really his lover but was . . . A male lover . . . a Dom . . . Michael. None of this was real and yet it felt so very REAL. _Hell . . . I don't even know what I'm thinking._ He knew the facts of the mission. He knew why they had to be here like this, but Birkoff also knew that these last few hours had meant so much more than devotion to duty for him. This was the most alive he'd ever felt and it had been in Michael's arms.

"I'm losing it," he whispered as he rose to leave the tub. Quickly drying his skin, Birkoff halted as he started to wrap the towel around his waist. It was his habit to wear one until he got dressed. He'd never really thought about the gesture. Birkoff had been in Section long enough to know there was almost never any real privacy. Constant monitoring was a fact and hardly inducement to run around sans clothing for large stretches of time. But now . . . he dropped the towel next to Michael's on the hamper. Michael had said he need to be used to being nude. The very nature of the mission prohibited any sense of modesty.

Squaring his shoulders, Birkoff went to join Michael . . . hoping the flush of his skin would only be attributed to the bath.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Michael sensed Birkoff's gaze touch his skin as the young man moved to reenter the room. Having his body admired by a lover was not a new experience for Michael, even if he didn't admit how the expression of wonder in Birkoff's eyes touched . . . something in him. Section taught its operatives physical awareness, how to manipulate one's own body to become many different people and how to utilize that awareness as a weapon in the right circumstances. Still it had proved intoxicating to observe Birkoff as he experienced pleasure from his touch: an intellectual becoming enraptured by physical sensation rather than corporeal thought. He had been beautiful . . . and still was.

Michael had chosen not to dress and was glad to see Birkoff hadn't either. The comfort level needed strengthening. As he placed their meal on the dinner island Michael softly addressed Birkoff, "David."

At Birkoff's questioning gaze, he continued. "Your name is David. David Fiennes."

Birkoff nodded. "And you are?"

"Michael DePaul."

At Birkoff's slight half-grin, Michael moved slowly around the counter. "Why the amusement?"

Birkoff opened his mouth to answer but stopped when he felt Michael press against his body from behind. He had to struggle to recapture his original thought. "Always Michael. A non-descript name. Lets you blend in . . . even when you stand out."

Michael slid the palms of his hands sensuously down Birkoff's back, over the swell of his behind and around to encircle his waist. "Also the name of an angel."

Birkoff whispered, "Which you are not."

"True. Now turn around."

As Birkoff turned to face him, Michael quickly swept the young man up by the waist to sit on the counter . . . moving the legs apart so that he was standing between Birkoff's thighs. Looking into Birkoff's wide eyes he said, "David is the mask you will wear. Michael is the veil I see life through."

Birkoff trembled at Michael's soft words. They were the most revealing and the clearest description of Michael that he'd ever heard. A man always covered by a veil . . . different textures, thicknesses and colors. As Michael leaned in to nuzzle Birkoff's neck, the young man gasped. "What color is the veil now?"

Michael actually released a small chuckle at the question. He chose to answer with a whisper in Birkoff's ear. "Dusty rose." His words were followed by a small nip at Birkoff's collarbone.

Birkoff closed his eyes. "Well, I guess I should be grateful you didn't say chartreuse."

Michael moved up to the full lips of his lover's mouth. Lightly tracing their curves with his tongue, he stopped to whisper. "So sweet . . ." before he captured his mouth in a passionate kiss.

His young lover responded with equal passion, bringing his hands up to run them through Michael's hair. _Soft._ The embrace continued to build in intensity. Birkoff forgot about the awkwardness of their situation, the hesitancy his inexperience caused him and the danger of high emotions . . . forgot everything but the feel of being in this man's arms. And then Michael pulled back. Birkoff tried to stop the groan of disappointment but still it escaped. Before he could ask why, Michael placed a finger against his lips to shush him.

"Shhh. You must follow your Dom's wishes, David. Your own desires are secondary. They must be controlled." He gently licked Birkoff's bottom lip before continuing. "We aren't really going to take it to that extreme, especially this first time. This will be a only the facade of such a scene. I'm not going to do more than the situation demands. The appearance of subjugation should be enough to complete the mission. I'm not going to put us in a situation where it becomes obvious that we haven't been training your responses. Your ability to act completely focused on my wants and desires is very important." He moved to raise Birkoff's legs so that they were clasped around his back. "So it is your Dom's desire to feed his sub." He picked up small slices of cheese and held them out for Birkoff to eat.

"You mean by hand?"

Michael's answer was a slight nod. As Birkoff began to eat, Michael slowly ungulated his hips to fit snug against his sub's groin. At Birkoff's small groan, Michael smiled. "Every quick response has its own reward."

Birkoff tried to retain some sense of focus as Michael continued to feed him, but it proved almost impossible as the man continued to gently trust against him as he swallowed. The motion had instantly aroused him. He could feel Michael's arousal as it pressed against his own. Birkoff closed his eyes as he tried to fight against the image of Michael's tease . . . only to find that dampening one sense added to the intensity of the sensations Michael was producing. Finally he spoke. "Sir, please."

Michael pressed fully against Birkoff's body and felt the tight grasp of the hands on his shoulders as he was held in the vice of Birkoff's encircling legs. Placing his hands on Birkoff's hips he said, "Open your eyes." Once Birkoff obeyed he continued, "Tell me what you want most."

Birkoff leaned into kiss Michael, speaking softly against his lips. "You. Inside me."

The operative traced the line of Birkoff's jaw with his lips. He whispered, "That can be arranged. You on my bed. Me over you, inside of you. Taking you." He felt Birkoff's body tremble with his words. His lover unclasped his legs and moved to fully embrace Michael in his arms.

"Yes sir, please."

Michael eased Birkoff off the counter, retaining the body contact as his sub slid to stand on the floor. Michael then took Birkoff's hand and guided him to his bed.

The bed was large with black sheets and many pillows. Birkoff couldn't help finding humor in the fact that even Michael's sheets were black. But the import of their coming actions erased his smile, bringing a fiery light to his eyes.

Michael make Birkoff sit on the bed as he stood before him. The young man leaned into Michael's abdomen, nuzzling the firm muscles. Michael could feel the brush of Birkoff's eyelashes against his skin, both a whisper and a tease. He ran his hand over Birkoff's head, easing him back slightly so that he was reclined back on his elbows. Michael said, "Open your legs."

Birkoff obeyed after a moment's hesitation. His body carried the flush of being so openly on display for his lover. He could almost feel the touch of Michael's heated gaze.

"Lay properly on the bed and raise your arms above your head. Grip the bars."

Birkoff did as Michael commanded. He came to rest on his back with his legs slightly opened. His hardened cock rested up against the curve of his pelvis, aching to be touched. His took hold of the bars and waited for Michael to continue.

Michael slowly circled the bed, moving to the nightstand. He pulled out a long silk scarf. As he strattled Birkoff's hips, Michael ran the cloth over his sub's skin. He watched as Birkoff cried out and surged up into the glide of the silk over his nipples. Michael moved forward to clasp Birkoff's wrists together and then tied them to the iron bars above their heads.

Birkoff gently tested the restraining knots as he looked askance of Michael.

Michael kissed him while enjoying the shy pass of the young man's tongue against his own, the smooth quality of Birkoff's skin as he ran his fingers down the underside of Birkoff's arms and the way Birkoff arched up against the slightest contact with his body. "Bondage usually plays a large role in the D/s, David." He saw Birkoff's eyes widen slightly at the name. "David is as nondescript as Michael, yes?"

Birkoff whispered, "Yes, sir."

"Your hands are tied in order to allow you to better focus on sensations. I am in control of both our pleasure. By being restrained you are freed of the responsibility to pleasure me, except through your responses to my touch. I take and you accept. The pleasure you give me is my due. The pleasure I allow you is a gift or reward." Michael slowly caressed Birkoff's chest with his tongue, tracing the line of the collarbone before moving to the nipples. He remembered how Birkoff had played with them earlier. Birkoff was so sensitive that he cried out as Michael took the nibs between his lips . . . teasing each in turn with a lick or a gentle nibble. Michael listened as Birkoff's cries grew a little more desperate before he pulled back. "I could make you come just by torturing your nipples."

Birkoff gasped a reply as Michael pulled slightly at his aroused nibs. "Yes. Yes sir, but . . ."

"Shh." Michael flicked his tongue over Birkoff's skin. "We'll try that later."

Birkoff moaned as he felt the liquid fire of Michael's tongue traveling down his stomach. The licks were quickly followed by teasing bites. The gentle scrape of Michael's teeth against his skin caused Birkoff to jerk his wrists against their restraints. The silk scarf remained tied. Birkoff felt the rasp of Michael's stubble against the smooth skin of his hip and then just the barest glide over the heated tip of his sex. Birkoff cried out, "Please. Oh please do it." His mind was so hyped up on arousal that he didn't even know what he was pleading for: Michael's mouth on his cock or Michael's cock in his ass.

Michael tightened his grip on Birkoff's hips, holding him close as he lowered his mouth. He inhaled Birkoff's scent, the mixture of Michael's own bath oil and the musk of the man beneath him. He slowly traced the contours of Birkoff's sex with his lips, followed by his tongue. Michael felt the fire build inside his own body as he tasted Birkoff's silken hardness, heard the gasping cry as he took it into his mouth and felt the unconscious thrust of Birkoff's hips to meet the movements of Michael's head.

Birkoff looked down at Michael as he teased him, alternating between working the tip and taking him fully inside. "To much . . . Sir, I'm ... I want ... Michael, please."

Michael eased back, slowly teasing the tip as he moved one hand to caress the warm sac beneath. He moved up Birkoff's body and placed a kiss at the base of his throat as he murmured, "Relax for me, D. This is going to feel like nothing you've ever known." He watched as Birkoff tried to calm his own breathing. "Don't come. Not until I tell you too." With these words, Michael leaned over and opened the nightstand. He pulled out a tube of lubricant and a condom.

Birkoff moaned loudly when he saw Michael place these items next to him on the bed. "Michael, I didn't think . . . ohh."

Michael whispered in his ear, "Didn't think what?" The words accompanied by the full press of Michael's body over Birkoff's own. The operative thrust his hard-on against his lover, hinting at the coming possession while creating a dual friction that caused them both to groan.

Birkoff closed his eyes, pressing up against Michael's body before responding. "I didn't think I'd . . . want this so much."

"This or me?" Michael asked, knowing it was a dangerous question for both of them. He knew his own desires had surprised him this day. Birkoff was proving to be addictive and Michael was getting too close to having this feel real. Real was dangerous.

Birkoff's eyes flew open at the question. Throwing caution to the wind, he answered truthfully. "This and you. Oh, god. This with you."

Michael kissed him fiercely in answer.

Rising up from his position over Birkoff, Michael met the young man's gaze. Holding his complete attention, he moved Birkoff's thighs further apart and knelt between them. In this moment before lost innocence his hands ran up the length of Birkoff's legs as he took in how beautiful he was. He lay there so wanton . . . his skin flushed with excitement and the glow of perspiration . . . displayed like a feast before a starving man. Before a man who had not tasted this feeling of possession of another man in years.

Birkoff watched with an unworldly feeling . . . almost as if from a distance, as Michael opened the lube and moved to prepare his body. He felt the smooth circling of the fingers as they moved in towards his tight center. He felt the first moment when one finger entered his body and the stretch as it moved into his ass. Slowly working the entrance, the finger was joined by another. Birkoff felt the fullness and the slight burn that eased with the smooth thrusting motion of Michael's hand. _He's finger fucking me. Oh shit . . . so good._ Several minutes past as those fingers moved within him and then Michael angled just so . . . "Ohh . . . Michael!!!" Birkoff jerked as Michael brushed his fingers over the prostate.

Having caught Birkoff off guard, Michael moved to enter him with three fingers. He continued to brush over the gland and thrust into the tightness that seemed to open itself up to the intense pleasure of the motion. Michael saw Birkoff's darkened cock as it rested against his heaving pelvis, saw it leak pre-cum and knew it was time.

Michael removed his fingers and placed the condom over his sex. Once he'd added lube, Michael lifted Birkoff's body so that it straddled his thighs. He kissed Birkoff, saying with a kind whisper, "Get ready."

Birkoff moved to stop Michael's words with his mouth, kissing the man desperately as if to say 'Yes, now. Please now.' As Birkoff's tongue moved into Michael's opened mouth, he felt the man enter his body. In one long persistent glide Michael moved into his ass, stopping only when he was fully seated within Birkoff's body. Birkoff's fierce cry echoed around the room as he tore his mouth back from Michael's. He felt the burn of entry and a fullness like he's never believed possible. But it was a pleasure. He finally had Michael, could feel him _inside_ himself and it was good. So good.

Birkoff opened his eyes to see his lover. Michael was still, letting Birkoff get used to his possession. His body was held tautly as he waited. His eyes never left Birkoff's face, gazing so intently at his young lover's response. His control radiated with barely shackled glow of fire in his eyes.

The operative saw the enrapt expression crossing Birkoff's face. He knew the moment Birkoff wanted him to move within him, could feel the need as an almost tangible thing.

And then Birkoff said, "Michael . . . now," with such yearning that his voice cracked with emotion.

With that permission, Michael moved out and took possession again. Birkoff released small sounds as he felt the angle change. Michael varied the rhythm between long slow thrusts that made Birkoff arch his back and small circular motion that angled his cock to brush over Birkoff's prostrate. Birkoff lost all sense of time . . . all sense of even himself in their coupling. All he knew was sensation, pleasure and the sense of two becoming one. Just when he thought he couldn't possibly climb any higher Michael took his cock in hand and said, "Come for me." Hearing Michael's raspy words and feeling himself being stroked as his body was taken proved the final push over the cliff into a sea of sensation. He couldn't see, couldn't hear . . . all he could do was feel. Feel the damp flood of his own desire against his stomach. Feel the quickened thrusts as his ass clenched around Michael, causing the man to groan as he jerked in climax. And then to know nothing more.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Birkoff regained awareness drowsily to find Michael washing him with a warm damp cloth. He felt only a slight tingling which spoke to the fact that some time had passed since he'd been released from his ties. He studied the other man as the hands moved over his skin. Each movement was gentle with a distracted grace, as if his thoughts were focused inward. _I wonder if he's thinking of Nikita._ When Michael's eyes did meet his gaze, Birkoff knew himself to be lost. Lost in time and in Michael. _Dangerous._ He knew this day was not real. Their time together was part of the job. But these emotions were . . . _Stop._

Michael laid down beside him. Birkoff rolled to his side so that he could face him. He didn't break the silence. It seemed too tenuous to touch. He'd said too much and given all. Birkoff felt completely exposed to the night. His thoughts and his body no longer his own. And he waited for the man next to him to speak, not caring what the words would be . . . only that Michael talk to him. Words to fill the void.

"Are you all right?" Michael asked finally in a hushed tone.

Birkoff opened his mouth to answer but no words escaped. Instead, he lowered his eyes and nodded. When he finally felt he could speak Birkoff said, "Thank you."

Michael took a moment to respond. Then he softly said, "For what?"

After a long while during which Birkoff never met Michael's eyes, he spoke. "For making this not feel like . . . like a chore or a task you'd been reluctantly assigned."

At the younger man's whisper, Michael reached out to touch him. Bringing Birkoff firmly into his arms, Michael embraced him fully. He whispered, "Touching you could never be a chore. Now sleep." With a gentle kiss he continued, "We have much to cover tomorrow."

Birkoff found it amusing that they both were speaking in whispered tones, almost as if this . . . . _consummation_ was being held in secret. _Secrets . . . from Madeline. Like hell._ All of a sudden Birkoff felt a wave of anxiety flood his system. He clasped Michael's waist tightly, hearing a gasp that sounded more like a giggle as it escaped his own mouth and reverberated off of Michael's chest. He couldn't tell whether he was just giddy or about to start crying. _Okay, this is mortifying._ Birkoff tried to cover with a forced laugh. "Now I know what all the fuss over you was about."

Michael had caught the small frantic sound before Birkoff spoke. He stroked his fingers down his lover's back to ease the slight shaking that seemed to be getting stronger in Birkoff. "What do you mean, David?'

Birkoff hid his face in Michael's chest as he explained. "No. Birkoff, please . . . just for now." He hoped it wasn't embarrassingly obvious that _he_ wanted to be the one in Michael's arms. He craved the tenderness and attention being bestowed. "I've been your monitor for years, Michael. I've listened to you have sex on several missions. I . . . I always wondered how it would feel to be touched by you."

Michael trailed one hand down to caress Birkoff's hip. "Now you know." The soft touch was meant to sooth and comfort, the gesture an echo from before. His young lover began to drift towards sleep. Michael could feel the tension ease out of Birkoff's body from his touch. "Sleep, Birkoff."

Birkoff murmured, "Hmm . . . yes, sir." And then he slept.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The next couple of days were extremely involved. Birkoff passed through each lesson in an almost constant state of awe and disbelief that he'd been assigned this role. He learned more than he'd ever thought he'd ever need about the D/s relationship. Michael didn't actually try to take him through the full paces of being a sub. He just outlined the levels of submission and training being a sub required. He did make Birkoff practice disrobing both himself and his Dom. He learned that subtlety of movement was very enticing. Undressing may be a means to an end, but it could hold as much seductive power as the most arousing touch.

Birkoff spent half the time in full attentive Section mode and the other in an erotic haze of pleasure. With continued exposure, he quickly lost his inhibitions in Michael's presence. He learned more about his own sexual responses as he mapped Michael's own pleasure spots. They spent hours just watching, tasting and touching each other. Birkoff began to see that he'd always used sex as a tool, something he did to relieve the frustration. He was his job. It had always surrounded his life, like Section itself. But this with Michael . . . even though he knew it was also part of the job, he wanted to be oh so briefly swept away.

Just thinking of how Michael took him the second time, made Birkoff's cock harden. It had been later the second day. Upon waking they had each showered separately then ate a huge breakfast. They'd reviewed the mission parameters and discussed their strategy. Taking a break, Birkoff went to freshen up in the bathroom. He'd remained unclothed after their stripping lesson, as had Michael. H couldn't get over how odd it was to be discussing the mission while being nude.

As he leaned over the sink to splash water over his face, Birkoff heard Michael enter the room. He started to rise but stopped when Michael said, "No. Stay just like that." The words were followed by the sensation of have Michael run his tongue up his spine from the small of his back to his neck. He bit his lip but still the loud moan escaped and sounded against the bathroom tiles. Birkoff gripped the counter tightly as Michael whispered in his ear, "David, raise your eyes. I want you to watch us." The command was clear. _David_ was quick to obey.

As they stared at their reflection, Birkoff moved back to feel the full press of Michael's body against his own. He wanted to please his Dom. "Yes, sir."

His eyes followed the movement of Michael's hands. They trailed lazily over his shoulders, moving to take the hips firmly in hand. Rocking easily against Birkoff's behind, Michael moved his cock to slide against the warm crevice. Meeting Birkoff's gaze as he asked, "Are you sore?"

Birkoff whispered, "Not really. I can still feel that we …" Each word was reduced in tone until Birkoff's words ended all together.

Michael lifted him into a standing position and then embraced him from behind, speaking softly as he trailed his fingers over Birkoff's torso. "That we shared your body. That for a moment I was a part of you and that you gave yourself to me. Is that what you mean?"

"Yes, sir."

Michael's fingers teasingly played with Birkoff's nipples. He watched as Birkoff's responded quickly to his touch. When next he spoke, Michael's voice held the controlled tone of command. "Stay perfectly straight. Watch our reflection and do not close your eyes to anything you experience."

With these words, Michael brought his mouth into contact with Birkoff's throat. He gently nipped at the skin along the young man's spine, licking each mark soothingly as he made his way down Birkoff's body. Kneeling behind his lover, Michael bit playfully into Birkoff's cheek. His own blood quickly caught fire as he listened to the man before him gasp and moan at such a touch. Wanting to add to the intensity of their coming union, Michael moved his mouth inward. He traced the inner curve with his tongue, hearing the catch in Birkoff's voice as he released a small sound of surprise. Taking the final step, Michael gently circled the opening before moving in to take Birkoff with his mouth.

Birkoff jerked unconsciously at the intimate invasion. It felt so good, so forbidden. He kept crying out Michael's name, knowing that he was quickly about to loose control over his own desire. "Michael. Oh Michael, please. I'm going to come if you keep …"

With one last taste, Michael rose behind him. He moved to pull out a condom and the lube. Capturing Birkoff's heated gaze with his own, Michael began preparing him for his own possession. Once Birkoff's body eased in acceptance, the operative leaned him forward so that his arms were braced against the counter. Birkoff could see the glass cloud as he cried out when Michael entered his body. The young man was mesmerized by both the physical and visual stimulation. Later when he tried to recall the image of this moment, he could only envision them in flashes. They appeared almost like still photos shown in rapid succession against the dark surfaces of his mind. The pleasure was so heated. It alternated between fast and slow. Birkoff couldn't think, only feel as Michael took him continually to a higher plateau. And then as Michael moved almost harshly into his heat, he felt the spasm move through both his own body and that behind him. Michael pressed his face into Birkoff's neck as they shook together with pleasure.

The next few moments passed without words. Michael eased from Birkoff's body slowly. After drawing a warm bath, Michael then lifted his exhausted lover up and placed him in the tub. Washing the traces of their passion from both his own and Birkoff's skin, Michael moved them both into the bedroom after they were done. He drew Birkoff against himself. They remained thus for a time before dinnertime approached.

Once they parted from the bed, the planning continued and the night passed quickly.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Birkoff awoke to the sound of the cello. It's sad melody carried softly across the loft. At first he thought the music was being played from a stereo, but as his mind met with full alertness Birkoff realized the resonance he heard had to be from someone playing in the next room. Michael? He slipped from the bed and followed the haunting strains. His lover sat on a wooden chair, head mussed and bowed as he played. The song was so delicate in its grief that Birkoff hesitated to enter the room.

As he moved to stand behind Michael, he saw the stilled image of Michael's son on the television screen. Little Adam looked into the camera with all the sweetness and charm of a four year old boy. His warm dark eyes filled the screen with laughing happiness. This was the son that Michael had so recently lost.

Michael's voice startled Birkoff out of his musing. "I still play it for him."

Birkoff realized that the music had ended. Michael turned his head to say, "Come here," before he attempted to approach him. As they'd practiced, he moved to kneel between Michael's legs with his hands behind his back and his head down. With a quiet, "Yes, sir," he waited for Michael's next response.

Michael turned the television off, watching as the image of his son disappeared from his eyes. He asked Birkoff, "What are you thinking?"

Birkoff hesitated before answering truthfully. "That you have a beautiful son. That I'm sorry for what Section has done to you both." He waited a moment before adding, "And that I didn't know you could play the cello so well."

Michael moved to lift the young man's face to his. Gently kissing Birkoff's mouth, he said, "He enjoyed what skill I had. It was something outside of Section that I could give just to him." After a moment, he straightened and rose. "Come. We must leave to meet Madeline."

Birkoff sighed. The day was at hand. And with that thought he moved to prepare for their return to Section.

 

\- - -

 

Part Two

 

Entering Section proved to be a test of will. Birkoff attempted to maintain his game face. Nothing has changed. I will not act differently just because I've been with Michael. He felt that everyone who looked his way knew he'd been with someone; and not just anyone someone. He'd been with Michael . . . had had the best sex of his young life with Michael and wanted it to happen again. Rationally Birkoff knew their recent intimacy wasn't obvious to everyone. Michael was acting as matter of fact as ever. They didn't speak or stand close to each other as they made their way to Madeline's office. Everything went well until he spotted Walter waving to him from across the room. He felt his entire body flushed with color. Quickly looking at the ground, he silently hoped his lapse wasn't too obvious. Normal . . . just act normal.

Reaching Madeline's office took what seemed an eternity. At the word "Enter," they went into her office and stood awaiting the details of the meet.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As Madeline watched the two men enter her office, she accessed what changes she could detect. With Michael, there were no apparent outwardly signs of the past three days' activities. He wore his mask well. Besides, his cover could be turned on and enacted at will. Birkoff on the other hand was exhibiting all the signs an observant person would need to notice the change in their dynamic . . . which was exactly what Madeline had wanted them to achieve. The awareness of Birkoff's response to Michael's presence would serve the profile well.

"Things have proceeded well, gentlemen. Thus far."

Left unanswered was the 'how' of how she knew this. Was it assumption built upon personal observation or had the surveillance of Section extended far enough to have captured even their most intimate of moments? These thoughts flew through Birkoff's scattered brain as he tried, not too successfully, not to turn magenta with embarrassment.

"The meet is in ten hours. A mutually agreed upon location has been chosen . . . through Ivanoff's intermediary. Review your assigned profiles carefully. Your personas are well detailed. Ivanoff has already made the expected background checks for you both."

Michael spoke. "Do you know if this is a one up interview or should we prepare to leave from the meet?"

"Ivanoff hasn't indicated either. But knowing his tendency for testing people, it would be prudent to expect anything." Madeline smiled. "For Birkoff's benefit . . . you may wish to treat this as a form of mandatory refusal. Meaning that you are in and will remain in deep cover until such time as the mission is completed . . . with the understanding that there will not be a Section blackout. You will not be allowed to contact Section. We will contact you. Extraction will be handled by Nikita' s team."

Birkoff didn't know what was more disconcerting: knowing that he and Michael would have no safety net but each other or that Nikita (Michael's Nikita) was going to be involved in the mission after all.

Michael inquired, "Nikita?"

Madeline tilted her head slightly, before she answered. "Yes. She will be team leader for the extraction." She waited a moment before adding, "Nikita will not be briefed on the full details of this mission. She will only know what is needed to get you both out with Ivanoff."

Birkoff watched his lover. . . _no_. He watched Michael nod his head - the only indication that the operative understood that his on-again/off-again lover would be helping to extract both himself and his latest sexual partner. The irony was not lost on Birkoff.

Madeline continued, "You've both proved sexually compatible. How would you rate your David's performance?"

After a moment Michael responded, "David . . ." When Birkoff turned fully to look his way Michael continued, "David, come to me."

For Birkoff, it was like a switch had been flipped in his brain. One minute he was Birkoff and the next he was David. The David that wanted to please his Dom with his quick response to his summons. He moved without thought, quickly standing between Michael's legs before sinking to rest on his knees in full sub position with hands behind his back and head down.

The whispered, "Yes sir," barely left his lips before his head was pulled back and his lips taken fiercely. The kiss was one of possession . . . dominance taken and submission given. Birkoff lost himself in touch of his Dom's mouth, the taste of his tongue. He moaned into Michael's mouth, but retained enough control over his body so as not to break position. One long intense moment later, he was released. Breathlessly, Birkoff resumed position with his head down.

The silence that followed was short in duration, but still agonizing. Madeline said, "Very convincing. Ivanoff should have no trouble believing that Michael and David are a D/s couple." Rising from her desk, Madeline approached them. "Birkoff . . . a word."

Michael indicated that Birkoff should stand. The operative left the room. Birkoff nervously waited for Madeline to speak.

"This mission does required you to become someone else, Birkoff. I can see that you have adapted well. My suggestion would be that you keep perspective. Don't loose yourself in being David. The consequences would be severe . . . for both yourself and Michael." At Birkoff's nod of understanding, she dismissed him.

Watching the young man leave, Madeline sighed. Sometimes she thought she just knew people too well.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hours later, Birkoff found himself fighting to regain the tangle threads of consciousness. His brain was humbled beneath a thick cloud of the ether with which he'd been knocked out. He tried to forced his mind completely awake but found he had to ease through the process until the effects allowed him to revive. His sense of helplessness and concern for Michael only lengthening the time required.

The meet had been successful, with one small glitch. The interview was actually with Ivanoff's confidante, Misha Sevitch. Michael and Birkoff were introduced, questioned and then tested by running sims and by hacking into certain programs without being traced.

Birkoff followed Michael's few commands. He stayed close and did his job well. After the series of tasks Misha requested were completed, they were told a video conference with Ivanoff was next. As they waited for the equipment to be set up, Michael turned to Birkoff. He lifted his hands to Birkoff's waist. Softly murmuring "David," Michael kissed Birkoff on the right side of his neck before drawing back to watch the others at work.

Birkoff knew the closeness was all a display for Misha but he couldn't deny the comfort and pride this contact awarded him. He'd handled everything well to this point but waiting for Ivanoff's perusal was nerve-racking.

Once connected, Michael moved over to Misha to wait for the introduction to be made. Birkoff followed at Michael's back, slightly behind and to the side. Ivanoff's gruff voice flowed into the room. He was as analytic and precise in his questioning as Madeline had told them he would be. Michael handled the responses efficiently . . . not being thrown by abrupt changes of topic or rudeness of address. Several minutes passed before Birkoff's moment of introduction came.

The change in Ivanoff's manner was abrupt and extreme upon seeing Birkoff. The young man quickly spoke his name and qualifications in the hope that Ivanoff's response would be tempered by the realization that he was not actually looking at Armand. His next sentence was cut short as Ivanoff ordered Misha to end the session and to bring both men back with him. Misha's protests were ignored as Ivanoff shutdown the video feed from his end of the connection.

They were hooded and escorted into a waiting van. Michael's attempt to ask where they were going was ignored. They were allowed to stay together. Birkoff was glad because having Michael close helped him to focus on not panicking. Retaining the veil. Trying to fight his own sense of nervous tension proved harder as the time inched by. His active mind swirled around possible outcomes of their mission, of this journey and of the moments they'd shared to reach this point. Birkoff could feel the heat of Michael's body next to his and the weight of his Dom's hand as it occasionally brushed against his side.. He knew he was still with him as the van finally came to a stop. One minute there was silence and then the next, the rush of chaos. The men grabbed him, shoving the ether cloth against his mask. He struggled briefly before the world went from hooded darkness into the oblique nothingness of the unconscious.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When next he opened his eyes, Birkoff faced the warm glow of an evening fire. He was on a bed, one of those huge canopy numbers that take up most of the room. Madeline's description of Ivanoff's stronghold as a castle had been perfect he noticed as he slowly moved his head to take in his surroundings. Large room with high ceiling, made more menacing by the lack of light. The only source of illumination was the fire and a couple of lamps placed in the corners of the room. Tapestries covered the wall opposite the bedside. As his gaze traveled further to his right, he suddenly froze in shock. Seated in an imposingly high-backed carved chair was none other than their host, Sergei Ivanoff.

_oh shit..._

He laid there desperately trying to think of what to say or do . . . Hell, where was Michael?

Ivanoff never moved. He just remained stationary as a statue while his whole demeanor radiated barely suppressed energy. He was on the brink of exploding, by the looks. Birkoff finally decided waiting for Ivanoff's reaction to his presence would only draw out his own sense of anxiety . . . so he broke the fragility of silence.

Mentally shaking, he braved to say, "I'm not him."

Ivanoff's reaction if seen in slow motion would have resembled the sudden leap of a jungle cat fiercely bent on the kill. As it was, Birkoff found himself rushed . . . his legs yanked down towards the foot of the bed with Ivanoff pressing fully over him. Unable to move, he could only watch in fear as the thunderous expression on Ivanoff's face approached into within a hair's-breath of his own.

When at last the larger man spoke, his tone held the menace of death. "What do you know about him? Who are you?"

Birkoff decided quickly to respond as if the answer was practical and already understood. "What is all this? You know who I am . . . who Michael is as well. You did the background checks on us, of that I am sure. As for the other, you can't expect to hire a hacker without having been researched in advance. What kind of expert would I be if I didn't know about my perspective employer?" The time ticked by at a maddening pace as Ivanoff continued to stare down at him. Finally Birkoff added, "No relation to him that I know of . . .no blood between us. Really, you know that. You knew what I looked like before we came to the meet. This all can't be a surprise. You know my history. We needed to know yours. Simple as that." He felt like he was on the brink of babbling, so finally he stopped talking.

Silence followed his words . . . looming as an echo of Ivanoff's physical presence over his body. Finding the courage to meet the man's gaze, Birkoff asked in a small voice, "Where is Michael?"

No answer was given at first. Ivanoff seemed momentarily satisfied to play the waiting game with the mouse he had cornered. Birkoff tried to remain still as Ivanoff stared at him, those eyes moving over the younger man's every feature as though gauging him against the past memory of another. The appraisal finally fell past the line of Birkoff's face coming to a stop at his throat.

Birkoff knew the importance of this moment…the moment when Ivanoff first saw the mark of Michael's ownership upon his person. Around his neck was a collar, one that had been presented to him by Michael before they had left Section One. The collar had been custom made at great expense for him to wear. It consisted of three lengths of leather on either side, each separated by small filigreed sliver links . . . ending with a light weight silver buckle at the base of his neck. At his throat, the black leather lengths were joined by a silver medallion engraved elegantly with the combined letters "M" and "D" in flowing script. The collar was a beautiful piece that had taken Birkoff's breath away when Michael had clasped it around his throat. Of course the butterfly kisses that followed Michael's words, "Let's go, David," only served to strengthen the memory.

Ivanoff drew back from him at the sight. Birkoff wondered if it was just a subconscious deference to another Dom's mark or if he'd decided to just take a different tack of interrogation.

"David Fiennes, partner and apparent property of Michael DePaul." Pausing to turn towards the fire, Ivanoff continued. "He is in the next room, still unconscious. Required more to knock him out." Moving to the door at a stomp, he left the room with an order. "Revive him quickly. You are expected at dinner in two hours. An escort will be here to bring you both down . . . walking or being dragged." The last words were accompanied by the slamming of the heavy wood door and the sound of an electronic lock being activated.

Once alone, Birkoff managed to get on his feet . . . grabbing the bedpost to fight off the wave of dizziness that followed. Pushing away firmly he slowly walked across the room to the other main door. It was unlocked. Opening it, Birkoff saw that it was adjacent to a large bathroom. A matching door was opened across the way. He entered the bedroom to find that it was brightly lit by several lamps and a fireplace identical to the other. The bed was enclosed in a canopy of curtains left untied on all but one side, revealing Michael held within its cocoon of warmth.

Climbing on, he moved to shake the operative awake. No response but an unconscious groan at being so mishandled. Michael's breathing remained strong as he continued to languish in a drugged haze.

_Shit._

"Michael. Sir...wake up. Please wake up." Birkoff was thankful he remember himself enough to address Michael respectfully even in private. The walls had ears he was sure, and by the look of the red light shining down from the canopy's top corner . . . the bed had eyes as well. Two hours. Enough time to see if Michael would awake in a few minutes before Birkoff might have to try more drastic measures. Seeing the man at rest was intriguingly intimate. The brush of his eyelashes against his cheek, the slow rise and fall of his chest and the utter relaxed sprawl of his position all served to feed Birkoff's hungry eyes. He reached out to take Michael's hand in his. Tracing over the long line of the fingers, he came to the ring that circled Michael's left index finger. Gently tracing over the engraved initials that matched the ones on his collar, Birkoff remembered back to the moment his Dom . . . _David's Dom_ . . . had given him the ring to place upon the hand he now held. The gesture had been a physical way of assuming the roles they were assigned . . . the ring and the collar being clear markers as to which persona was enforce. He didn't know what could have been more simple . . . or more complex. He was 'David.' He was Birkoff. And they both wanted Michael . . . his touch, taste, cock . . . and best/worst of all his love.

_I'm in a heaven of hell._

Birkoff knew he was infatuated. He had a tendency to fall too quickly into such a state with the few people that had shown him untold affection. Stupid. Unlike the other times though, he was in such a state with his eyes wide open and his course clear. The man beside him loved Nikita. Michael's touching him, possessing him was all part of the job and when the assignment came to its conclusion, would all cease. No lasting ties to interfere with their future working relationship. He knew as well that his own emotions could and would be suppressed. In the end their continued survival was all that mattered, both here and in the future. Birkoff had always valued the expanse of his mind's capacity for retention of knowledge. He now understood that within its' chambers, there would always be a place where he felt this man . . . and could continue to love him without fear of reprisal. Until the end, he would cherish and stock hold every moment for each may be their last.

Michael moved restlessly in his sleep. Almost ready to awaken. They hadn't much time left. Throwing his doubts aside, Birkoff decided that if they did only have so much time together that he'd better make the most of such a gift. He moved to straddle Michael's hips . . . feeling it as they moved up against him when Michael shifted in unconscious rhythm. Birkoff slid down his body, fully maintaining contact as he came to rest laid out on his stomach between the spread of Michael's thighs. He rested his cheek against the warmth of his lover's groin, feeling the flesh beginning to wake beneath the leather of the pants. Birkoff turned to hide his slight smile as he thought about how he'd now forever associate black leather, silver and Michael together in his heart. The heat of his breath caused the flesh below to harden until the bulge was obvious along the zipper. Never taking his eyes off Michael's still face, the young man reached forward and opened the pants to retrieve his prize.

Each time he held Michael's hardened cock, the luxury seemed more wondrous than the time before. The smooth skin felt like silk over steel and the heat that it generated into his own skin was like the fire of the sun warming his cold spirit. _His_ touch had caused this. _Oh . . . Michael._ Keeping his eyes open to look for signs that Michael might reach consciousness, Birkoff moved to taste him once more. The sense of power washed over him, through his veins and over the slick fire of his tongue. His lover's drugged sleep lent him the unabashed freedom of mood and motion that allowed Michael's body to rush towards completion under Birkoff's rapid rhythm. Birkoff loved the sense of give and take he earned from this . . . a sub's service in which he reveled. The jerk of the shaft against the roof of his mouth followed by the sound of a harshly drawn breath caused him to raise his gaze back to the face from which they'd fallen.

Michael was awake. Awake and disoriented enough that upon realizing what was happening and with whom, Birkoff had to quickly move up his body to silence the surprised, "Bir..uhmm," that threatened to escape. Kissing him strongly, Birkoff intentionally moaned into his mouth. "Sir. Oh, sir. I'm so glad you're awake. Let me . . . please let me finish, sir."

Hearing the words helped Michael regain his senses quickly. Feeling a warm hand stroke him towards the completion that was impending, he jerked back from their kisses long enough to give command. "David. Finish it . . . now." He arched into his sub's touch as he gently pressed Birkoff's head back to his cock. Michael sensed that this whole display wasn't totally being played out just between them. Birkoff had initiated this for Ivanoff's benefit. Maintaining enough control to find and see the small flash of a camera's red light above them confirmed the thought.

Birkoff took him back into his mouth, quickening the pace as he felt Michael card a hand over the soft brush of his short hair. The hand caressed down his neck, coming to stop at his collar. And then even the sounds of his passion and Michael's couldn't drown out the slight clink of his Dom's ring hitting against the buckle of his collar. That small infinitesimal sound echoed over all the rest until it was broken by the rasp of Michael's climatic cry, "David!"

After a moment Michael tugged Birkoff up to gift him with a kiss. Pulling back, the younger man said, "Hmm. Thank you, sir."

The operative smiled as he said, "We should have taped that one," hinting to Birkoff that he'd noticed the video surveillance.

Birkoff rolled his eyes as he replied, "Maybe next time, sir."

"Tell me what's happened, luv." Michael embraced his sub as he listened to the exchange that had taken place between Ivanoff and his 'David.' Considering that Birkoff had had to face the man alone, he thought it sounded as if things had gone well. So far . . . that is. "We need to prepare for dinner. Dress me." David rose slowly, obviously sporting a hard-on that had yet to be relieved. He fastened his Dom's clothing and helped him rise from the bed. Michael commanded that he stand still, whereby the Dom removed Birkoff's sweater . . . leaving him dressed in the leather pants they'd picked out at Section, alone with a long sleeved black mesh shirt that contrasted perfectly against his pale skin. When his partner moved to replace his glasses, Michael took them away. "Tonight I want to feel your eyes on me."

Birkoff smiled softly. "Yes, sir."

Hearing a the locked entrance door being opened, Michael leaned in to kiss him as he murmured, "Courage." Raising his head, they both turned to see Misha in the room.

"Ivanoff wants you both at dinner. Follow me." At those words, they left to confront the uncertainty of circumstance.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Following at Michael's back, Birkoff kept his mind on mapping out the path they took to dinner. Closed doors. That was the main image he retained as they moved . . . several hallways of identical closed doors with no point of reference to maintain except memorizing the total number with each turn to the left or right. By the time they'd finally arrived, he had gained a head full of numbers and a concentration headache.

_At least I managed not to bump into my Dom while walking with eyes down._

They didn't know what to expect for dinner. Was it to be a room full of Ivanoff's people or more of a one-on-one interrogation? Birkoff just hoped he and Michael weren't on the menu . . .

Instead, they found themselves entering into a different atmosphere all together. It was a media room. The entire back wall was covered with video monitors from floor to ceiling . . . dozens and dozens of them all featuring the various rooms of the house. A bank of leather sofas where arranged in a semi-circle as if before a large fire with the stone floor covered in plush rugs. A dinner setting for three had been placed on the large wooden table in front of the center sofa.

Michael and Birkoff walked towards the sofas. There was no sign of Ivanoff. The three place settings were placed two together on one side of the table and one alone on the other side of the table. Moving to stand on their apparent side of the table, Michael indicated with a nod that "David" was to stand down from his back and more towards his side. Placing his arm around Birkoff's waist, Michael caressed his hip as he scanned the room for entrances. Hearing a gasp from his sub, the operative quickly turned to see the monitors each begin to change to the same scene. The switched feed ran from one screen to the next like in a domino effect that followed the outside borders, moving inward until the central and largest monitor held the image as well. The video feed was not live. Instead every square held the image of Birkoff caressing Michael's ring while he slept. The image of deep adoration was not lost on Michael. He felt Birkoff's entire body become infused with tension, so he continued his soothing touch alone the younger man's side.

As quickly as the image had appeared, it was simultaneously replaced on all monitors by the moving image of David's wake up call for his Dom. The camera had moved back to take in the whole image of their passion. Michael watched the devotion that Birkoff had paid to him, feeling his own blood heat behind his mask of neutrality. His listened to the man beside him as his breathing quickened at the view. Inside he had to admit that the situation was incredibly arousing. He'd told Birkoff that seeing one's self during sex only served to heighten the experience. Still, foremost in his mind was the question of when would Ivanoff appear after having presented himself with such an entrance.

At the thought, the room was inundated with sound. Stereo speakers placed around the room flooded their senses with the sound of Michael's climactic cry, "David!" The operative heard his sub whisper a quiet, "Oh shit," as he swayed slightly back against his Dom's body. Michael moved to fully embrace him from behind, keeping on hand on his hip and the other over Birkoff's softened hair. The peak on screen was suddenly paused to capture the kiss that had followed. All sound ceased. Until . . .

"Michael DePaul and David Fiennes." Their fixed gazes were quickly jarred from the screens to find that not only had Ivanoff entered the room, but that he was in fact seated on the sofa opposite their position.

_How'd he get there with us . . ._

Michael didn't say anything in acknowledgment. Instead, he gave 'David' the command for first position. Birkoff dropped down gracefully beside his Dom's place setting, arms back and head down. Seating himself, Michael continued to wait in silence knowing that it was better to wait for Ivanoff to speak than to volunteer information in advance.

Ivanoff delayed speaking as he studied them both. Michael could see the man's eyes travel the length of Birkoff's body, taking in the obedience and submission that shown forth in the sub's attention to his Dom's presence and word.

"This one seems well trained to heel. And yet earlier, I saw a few sparks of defiance from him. His tone was not as it should have been." Ivanoff's word weighed heavily in the air between them.

Michael responded, "David is his own man to everyone except myself. He's been trained to follow my commands. He submits only to my will, my voice and my touch. In all else, he is equal in the world."

He watched as Ivanoff took in the implied hands-off aspect of his words. The man finally gave a small nod before continuing.

"From what I've seen of your work, it would make sense for him to retain a level of self assurance that such an understanding would allow a sub. Still . . . any level of permitted freedom of will lends itself to planting seeds of dissension. I do not allow dissension here. My word is law."

Michael said in agreement, "That was understood before we decided to contact you. We do our jobs well. You know that or else we'd never have gotten this far. We can both provide you with the skills you require and will strive to accomplish all tasks that you put before us. But understand this . . . David is mine. Mine alone."

Ivanoff gave a small menacing laugh in response. Taking the remote from his side, he clicked a button and the wall display returned to its original surveillance mode with each screen showing live feed of a different room. Some rooms were empty. Some showed individuals doing mundane tasks. One or two showed couples engaged in various sexual activities. Their host seemed completely oblivious to the oddity of watching people in their most intimate moments as he said, "Eat. Tomorrow there will be more to discuss."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

For Birkoff, dinner seemed to last an eternity. Once he'd been given permission to eat by Michael, they had both finished their meal in silence. The only break in the tension was Ivanoff's sporadic comments regarding the scenes on the monitors. He'd suddenly point out one room or another, telling them the name of the occupant(s), followed by comments that ranged from job performance critiques to sexual limitations of each couple that may have claimed his momentary interest. Birkoff couldn't get over having this wide an array of visual stimuli at one's beck and call. Sure in Section he was regularly called upon to monitor dangerous or intimate scenes between operatives and their marks, but in such cases it was with a measure of circumspection because each assignment had it's own focus . . . each operative performing under the parameters of the profile. This blatant across-the-board voyeurism was just what Madeline had warned them about.

Besides . . . he still couldn't get the image of Michael and himself blazoned from floor to ceiling, monitor to monitor out of his head. It had obviously been a trick to make them uneasy . . . to test their reaction. Overall, he was pleased with his own performance on this mission. Now if he could just maintain the illusion.

Once the meal was finished, Ivanoff had dismissed them. They were told that they were under restricted access. The house was off limits unless they were being personally escorted by either Ivanoff or Misha. So until tomorrow, they were left to themselves in their rooms.

They stayed silent as they reentered the bedroom. Michael drifted over to the bathroom, leaving a quiet Birkoff standing still next to the locked doorway. The fire had been stoked for the night so the room was nicely warm. The curtains on the bed had been released on every side except one. Hell . . . even the bed had been remade and turned down. Birkoff blushed slightly to think what had caused it to be disheveled to begin with. It wasn't the act that caused his skin to heat in embarrassment, just the memory of seeing it put up for public display. Still, the heat of his skin had only a little to do with that and more to do with Michael. He could still taste the arousal he'd had to fight all evening, having been given no release earlier.

After Michael returned, he made his own escape to the bathroom. Upon reentering the bedroom, he found his Dom lounging back on a leather chaise lounge before the fire.

Spreading his leather-clad legs apart, Michael summoned him. "David, come to me."

Catching his breath, Birkoff moved to his Dom's side. Not knowing exactly what Michael wanted him to do, he knelt in position on the lounge between the man's thighs. Feeling his chin lifted, he met his lover's gaze. The heat that shown from Michael's eyes surprised him in its openness. Until he remembered the cameras . . .

Michael reversed their leg positions, moving Birkoff to straddle his lap. He pulled the young man to his body, feeling the heat of his lover's breath as Birkoff gasped when Michael moved to clasp his ass possessively. Brushing their lips together in a tease, Michael asked, "We've some unfinished business, yes?"

Birkoff moaned as his Dom quickly licked his bottom lip as he was opening his mouth to answer. "If sir wishes . . ." He felt it as his arms were freed from their sub position at his back. Michael brought them around to the fastenings of Birkoff's pants. He could feel the hard outline of his own cock as he moved to open the them. Once he'd freed himself, Michael pushed the leather down to his knees . . . effectively curtailing the movement of Birkoff's legs.

"You may come later . . . but only if you manage not to move now. One thrust and it stops. Understood?"

Physically shivering at the thought of how much concentration it would take to withstand Michael's skill, Birkoff answered breathlessly. "Yes, sir."

His Dom placed his mouth against the cock before him, tracing the length with the brush of his lips. He ghosted across the hot flesh as he moved from tip to base and back again. Looking up, the operative watched as Birkoff bit at his bottom lip in an attempt to fight against the sensation he'd been given. So responsive to even the barest touch. Deciding to make his lover quickly lose the battle so they both could more quickly reach the ultimate tumult of their war, Michael opened his mouth and took Birkoff inside. He hastened the man before him with a harsh rhythm designed to break his control. Listening to the whimpers that escaped as he fucked his own mouth on the staff he cherished within . . . Teasing his lover with the maddening friction of his fingers against his tight entrance . . . All these weapons served him well as Birkoff cried out, caught between the desire to move forward into Michael heat and back onto his hand. The young man jerked violently as he fell forward against his Dom's shoulder, clutching at his shoulders in an attempt not to fall off the chaise . . . caught and suspended at the brink of the abyss and unable to rush on into the wake of chaos.

Feeling the tension mounting throughout the body in his arms and against his chest, Michael knew it was time to finish them both. "David. You've disobeyed me. Your pleasure is subject now to what?"

Trying to think around the fire storm in his head, Birkoff whispered harshly. "My pleasure is subject to your will, your desire and your pleasure, sir. Always."

"Then do it..."

Not knowing exactly what 'it' was, Birkoff decided to improvise. He'd obviously been deliberately made to fail his Dom's command so that must mean that this second part of the scene was his 'grovel-beg-and-plead' part of the game. He needed to win his Dom's favor back by giving him pleasure. At the thought, he reached back to retrieve the necessities. Taking a condom and lube from the pants that were pooled around his knees, he placed them on the slope of Michael's lap . . . making his intentions clear. Moving aside, Birkoff leaned over to remove first his boots and then his pants. Sliding down to kneel at Michael's side, he crossed his hands and removed his shirt. Naked before the his lover's eyes . . . of all things save his collar, he lowered his head to the man's groin. Rubbing his cheek against the trapped ridge of the hardened flesh below, he slowly moved forward. His eyes never leaving Michael's gaze, Birkoff licked the line of the pants' zipper from bottom to waist.

Michael's jaw clenched tightly at the view his sub presented. The kitten licks continued until he commanded, "Enough." The tenor of his words made taunt by the strain of his self control. Reaching down he swiftly unfastened the waist band, indicating with a slight tug at Birkoff's collar that the young man was to proceed.

With the taste of leather still on his tongue, Birkoff returned to his kneeling position between Michael's out-stretched thighs. He placed the condom and lube beside the operative's hip. Slowly bringing down the zipper, he let his fingers run over the length of the cock inside before pulling the material back and down . . . coming to rest only after his lover's cock and balls were completely free. The pants remained at mid-thigh as he moved in to press his body against Michael's own. He laid himself against the full expanse of the chest before him, feeling the sweet and torturous friction of his Dom's clothing against his own skin. Hugging Michael's shoulders for balance, he moved to straddle the man's waist . . . holding himself above the cock he longed to have again. With his face no more than a hair's breath from his lover's, Birkoff reached down and back to prepare himself for Michael's length.

Seeing Birkoff working the lube into his own body, Michael rewarded him with the softest of kisses. The operative was not mildly astonished at the man's wantonness in such a display. It would be hard to hold this image up against the reality of Birkoff's insulated behavior at Section. Now it seemed as if there were two different beings inside the slender frame... The word 'Gemini' echoed through his brain before the tear of a wrapper brought him fully back to the scene.

Birkoff gracefully covered Michael's cock with the condom, meeting his gaze as he proceeded to stroke more of the lube along his length. Once prepared, he asked his Dom, "Sir. May I?" At the man's gruff-voiced accent, he raised his body up and back into position. The feeling of Michael's heat and the leather against his ass was making him dizzy with need. He wanted this so badly. Knowing how his lover had asked him to voice his pleasure in the past, Birkoff moaned loudly as he felt the first moment of penetration. He slowly lowered himself into place . . . reveling at the sensations this new position brought to him.

Michael remained perfectly still, allowing his sub to adjust to the angle of his entrance. He watched the play of pleasure as it swept across Birkoff's face, heard the cry as the younger man finally sheathed the entire length within his body. Fully seated upon him, Birkoff was truly the image of desire. His body was infused with the flush of arousal, his skin shown with the exertion of his accomplished goal and his voice gasped forth in need for Michael to fuck him within an inch of his existence. Taking hold of his lover's hands in his own, Michael thrust upwards into bliss . . . guiding his lover in the rhythm of riding his Dom's cock. Birkoff didn't just moved up and down. His whole body radiated in the joy their contact gave him, head tossing as he circled and rose . . . circled and fell . . . never breaking the stride or the lock of Michael's eyes.

The pressure in his balls grew to a painful ache. He was so close and yet had to fight against the rush of his blood because he wasn't 'allowed' to come until given permission. He was fucking himself on his Dom, presenting his body as the vessel for the other man's pleasure. His own desire was secondary. But he was still so close . . .

"Sir. Aww...." His gasps grew louder, his cries and moans more incensed. Michael suddenly released his hands, grabbing hold of his hips . . . forcing him downward to meet the immutable force of his thrusts. He was stretched so fully, pleasure firing through his mind and body as Michael's cock repeatedly brushed against his prostate . . . and still he had to fight against the maelstrom of it all. _Please . . . oh fuck. Please!!!_

Feeling the desperate hitch in his lover's rhythm, Birkoff pleaded aloud. "Michael!!! Oh sir. You feel so good. Please. Please, sir. Let me feel it with you . . ." He was babbling like an maniac but finally it seemed to break through his Dom's control.

"David." Michael suddenly surged up and jerked his own shirt over his head, leaving his bare chest fully exposed. Panting with effort, he crushed Birkoff's upper body to his own. Gripping the slender hips above his own, Michael drove himself fiercely into Birkoff . . . while pressing down on the younger man's torso so that the hardened cock trapped between them was caught up in the friction of their movements. Groaning aloud, "Come. Give me everything," he pressed his face against Birkoff's throat. Feeling the collar brush against his cheek, the tightening grip of flesh that surrounded him and the harsh cry of the man in his arms as Birkoff came between them was his undoing. Jerking upwards, he held onto Birkoff as his body spasmed in completion.

In the minutes that followed, Michael continued to hold him tightly. All was silence except for the slowing of harsh breaths. Birkoff remained still . . . clinging to Michael as though to a lifeline. He didn't want to end the embrace. It was as if he feared that by bringing their passion completely to an end . . . he would now shatter like so much glass. _No. No. Oh lord . . . no._

Michael wasn't want to let him go either, but knew that he must. Pressing a hand to Birkoff's lower back, he eased from the his body. The loss of their connection caused a surprising reaction in his lover. The quiet of the night was suddenly broken by a sob torn roughly from Birkoff's soul. Feeling the desperation in his lover's trembling body, Michael soothed him with caressing hands along his back and legs. "Shh. David, shh. It's okay." The words failed to ease the pain he heard from his lover. Guiding Birkoff's head to face him, he saw that tears stained the paleness of his cheeks. The young man's eyes were closed tightly against the embarrassment his outburst caused him. In a firmer tone Michael spoke, "David. Open your eyes." After having been obeyed, he continued with two words. "Tell me."

Birkoff opened his mouth and at his confession all time seemed to stop. "I love you." The tears continued to fall as he dared to keep his gaze on Michael's face. The truth said, he knew he could not take it back. Would not have if he could.

Michael drew him close again, brushing kisses over his swollen mouth. Whispering, "Thank you," against the softness of Birkoff's lips, he hugged him close. The young man's admission was not part of the profile he knew. Having Birkoff love him was not mutually conductive for their return to Section, but feeling the warmth of this man's admission now surprisingly made him not care about what the future would hold. For the moment, them being like this was the only truth he wanted to know.

Lifting them both from the lounge, Michael lead Birkoff to the bath. His lover's steps were shaky but steadfast. Taking him into the shower, the operative quickly cleaned them before having his sub follow him back to the bedroom. Drawing Birkoff down to lay with him under the warmth of the bed covers, Michael kissed him with all the gentle passion he could reward to the man who loved him.

Birkoff met Michael's string of kisses, each acting as a temporary balm to his shaken spirit. Taking long moments to gaze into each other's eyes, he accepted this small gift of compassion. Held firmly against his lover's chest, Birkoff drifted asleep to the sound of Michael's beating heart. All thoughts as to their continuing mission left to the coming dawn.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

_oh my god..._

Birkoff quickly raised his head to gain Michael's attention. The operative was standing across the room discussing strategy with Ivanoff, therefore he missed the I've-got-to-talk-with-you-now stare that was directed his way. Reasoning that telling Michael later would be safer for them both, Birkoff returned his attention to the screen before him.

Seven days . . . It had taken seven days to find this.

Seven days since they'd been given their initial orders. It had been simple at first, just hacking into various subsystems and downloading what had seemed like random data. Birkoff had felt they were just being tested again, but with each successive day the new intel gathered had started to piggy-back upon the old forming a more decisive pattern . . . making Ivanoff's ultimate goal clearer. And now - an epiphany.

Ivanoff wasn't working for Red Cell. He was hacking them. Defection and betrayal from the inside out.

He was stockpiling information sensitive enough that every agency in the world, terrorist or anti-terrorist, would agree to any price he set without argument. Capturing Ivanoff would be the biggest coup Section One had ever achieved. The complication was . . . who was he planning to sellout too?

"David!"

Snapping his head towards the aggravated tone of his Dom's voice, Birkoff saw that he'd been to lost in thought to notice that he'd been addressed. Uh oh . . . Shit. It was audience time.

They'd gotten their first taste of "audience time" the second night. They'd answered question upon question, been stared at, watched and completely scrutinized all day. Finally Ivanoff's drill sergeant routine had run out of steam. His personality tended to change rapidly. One minute he seemed cold and calculating, then he'd switch to paranoid and dangerous. The emotions flashed across his face in a kaleidoscope of different colors. All Birkoff knew to do was act as if everything was normal and fine . . . that and stay very close to Michael's side. He knew that Ivanoff focused most of his attention on the warped and yet familiar mirror image of Armand that Birkoff represented. The man spoke to Michael, argued with him and still he kept his eyes directed at Birkoff. Abruptly he stopped talking and command them to follow him to "audience."

Audience turned out to be Ivanoff's twisted version of show and tell . . . a personal form of public confession with Ivanoff playing the priest. His people crowded around him like they were starving for his attention and yet all looked reluctant to have his gaze fall upon them. When one was chosen, he or she stood before the room to answer for whatever sin or misdeed that Ivanoff had witnessed them committing on the wall of monitors. They were allowed the answer for their supposed indiscretion . . . most admitting to it and asking for punishment. Birkoff couldn't believe how odd this whole ritual was to watch. The punishments were as varied as the crimes. All he could think of was Madeline's reference to Ivanoff's tendency to test people again and again. Rungs on a ladder . . .

Ivanoff never meeked out the sentences, just watched as they were carried out by others. Punishment involved varying degrees of humiliation, subjugation and even sexual performance displays. The displays tended to turn into orgies, but Michael kept them both off to the side . . . standing as spectators to the play rather than participants. The same as Ivanoff. Watching only . . . until the fifth night when it was announced to the room that they would be standing before the audience soon.

Their sin was not given . . .

Their punishment was to be meeked out and enforced two nights following. Meaning tonight.

Each minute between then and now had been one of dread mixed with confusion. They had to continue performing their hacks by day and playing to their assigned roles as lovers by night. Not that the latter was any kind of a hardship for Birkoff or indeed for Michael. The passion, tenderness, affection and love that Birkoff found in these hours were the most cherished moments in his life.

He continued to find it ironic that he'd found so much of himself while living a lie under the ever present camera's eye.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Michael indicated that Birkoff should follow him. Walking behind Ivanoff, they entered the audience hall. Told to stand before the room, they awaited Ivanoff's word.

His voice held the edge of one not expecting to be crossed. "I find that your association does not hold the sign of permanence that you both profess."

In a tone that held no defensiveness Michael replied, "We hold the signs of our devotion both in our hearts and on our bodies." Peripherally he saw Birkoff lift a hand to his collar.

Ivanoff's answer was thick with contempt. "Trinkets that may be discarded at will. They are but the show of love's perfection."

Michael knew that to lose this debate would be to put Birkoff from his protection, virtually putting him on open market for Ivanoff's choosing. "We bare the signets of our commitment, freely given and accepted. There is no life for either without the other."

There was a tense silence following his words and then Ivanoff spoke once more. "Pretty words indeed. Well felt by the speaker . . . but in such a declared bond the other must also give his answer. David Fiennes, what say you to my judgment?"

"I love him. Both in body and spirit. In all things I am his. Forever." The emotion behind Birkoff's words gripped at Michael's own heart. He closed his eyes briefly against the sweet pain he felt at hearing the truth in his lover's voice. Never had he garnered such a sense of protectiveness for anyone except Simone, Adam and Nikita.

Ivanoff smiled menacingly as he proclaimed their sentence, "Forever it will be. A sign marked in permanence shall be administered." Rising from his seat, the man walked to stand before them. Two men entered the room with a leather covered table, placing it in the center of the circle of Ivanoff's people. "Method . . . body art." At these words, a woman stood up from the group to sit beside the table as the implements were placed at her side. "Now choose and reveal the canvas."

Ivanoff's command brought the still framed image of Armand lying in Ivanoff's arms into Birkoff's head. In that instant he knew what he had to do . . .

With the confidence of one who knows what he wants most in life, Birkoff made the decision. He stepped around to face Michael. Taking his Dom's hand in his, he traced the ring that held 'their' signet initials. Looking into the older man's eyes, he saw that Michael knew that he had made his choice and that he would not be denied his desire. He walked with Michael by his side to the table. Holding his lover's gaze, Birkoff removed his clothing. First the shoes, then the shirt and finally the leather pants . . . until he stood nude but for his collar. He didn't see the people that surrounded them. He didn't feel the lecherous thunder of Ivanoff's gaze. He only saw and felt the affection and pride that shown on Michael's face. Birkoff melted into the brush of his lover's kiss and the glide of his ringed hand over the curve of his hip. That spot . . . The one that Michael had touched so often to comfort, to tease and to possess . . . was the one he chose.

Keeping Michael's hand on his hip, Birkoff turned to the woman. He whispered two words of instruction. "This," indicating the initials on the collar and ring . . . and "here," as he stroked the back of Michael's fingers along his hip. At her nod, he laid down across the table on his side.

Michael knelt down beside the table. He murmured a pleased sound as Birkoff eagerly responded to his kiss. The young man tasted so sweet in that moment. He looked beautiful in the slip of light that flowed from the ceiling above their heads. He extended his hand to his sub so that his ring could be removed for the artist's inspection. Seeing Birkoff hand it over to her, he stroked the freed fingers over the pale firm flesh of his lover's thighs. While he continued the soothing caress, the woman completed the template sketch and returned the ring to Birkoff. His sub placed the ring in his mouth before guiding Michael's hand closer. He slid the symbol back into place as he took his lover's finger into his mouth, a teasing light in his eyes. Michael couldn't help but find it a bit endearing that Birkoff seemed happy at such a moment. Stroking the man's cheek, Michael held his eyes as Birkoff winced with the first taste of the needle's sting.

Each touch of the needle sent fire through his side, but Birkoff tried to block out the sensation by focusing on the tenderness and care with which Michael now touched him. He wanted to please his lover by braving this rite of passage. Birkoff knew that this moment meant far more to him than to Michael, still . . . the man before him had a look of understanding in his eyes. Acceptance shown forth as well. Michael it seemed knew of his desire to be marked by this experience . . . to wear the signet as both a badge of courage and a gift of permanence. The only thing that he would have to hold when this was at an end.

Lost as he was in the moment, Birkoff did not see the other members of the group being dismissed by Ivanoff. Michael kept touching his lover, helping to keep him within the self-induced zone through which he'd chosen to endure the needle's progress. Finally, he saw that they were alone except for Ivanoff and the woman.

The minutes continued to bleed together in the quietness of the room and the hum of the machine. When at last the deed was complete, the woman placed a bandage over the mark and rose from her place. She whispered the necessary instructions for the tattoo's care into Michael's ear. Before the artist could exit, Birkoff placed a hand on her arm. He whispered, "Thank you." With a nod, she was gone.

Helping Birkoff to rise, Michael pulled him close . . . silently rocking his lover as Birkoff's slim frame began to shake slightly. The warmth of their embrace was broken only when Ivanoff spoke, "Your bond is now well served. And well shown."

Michael replied steely, "As was yours." He watched as anger and then sadness crossed Ivanoff's face. The effects of Armand's loss was still quite evident.

Answering with a candor that was rare to his nature, Ivanoff answered. "Put frankly . . . yes. Accepting my mark was the greatest gift Armand ever gave me." Walking towards them both, he stopped at their sides. "A love as I've seen between you both is very rare. It should be cherished . . . for fate is a cruel mistress." Abruptly regaining his gruff manner, Ivanoff turned to leave. "Tomorrow you will await me in your rooms. I've a task for you both that will require my direct supervision."

Once alone, Birkoff physically sagged against Michael's body. His Dom easily bore his weight while Birkoff fought to control his emotions. There was so much that he needed to tell Michael . . . the news about Ivanoff's Red Cell hacks being the most important, but he couldn't even stand under the burden of need and desire he now felt.

"Michael," he breathed against his lover's chest. His next words were cut off by the crush of Michael's kiss. The touch was soft but so insistent that Birkoff submitted to his Dom's desire for silence.

Their kiss was interrupted by Misha's return to the audience room. He stood by as Michael carefully pulled Birkoff's clothes back on before their return to the prison bedroom. Leaving the leather pants open so as to cover but not harm Birkoff, Michael guided him from the room.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Locked up once again for the night, Birkoff followed Michael over to the bed. He stood obediently still as his clothes were once again removed. Birkoff wanted to see the tattoo, but Michael quietly told him to lie down. It would be awhile before the bandage could be removed. "Sir?" Birkoff hesitated and then said, "I'm . . . I'm glad for it no matter what it looks like." Looking up at his lover he whispered quietly, "You've made me glad, Michael."

Michael laid down on the bed with him. Nibbling lightly at his jawline he whispered, "And you've made me proud. Thank you for your courage to stand at my side."

Birkoff was in awe of Michael's kind words. They meant the world to him. Resting his head against his Dom's chest, Birkoff let himself drift . . . never reaching sleep, just remaining half in wakefulness as he welcomed Michael's strokes down his back. After what seemed a long while, Birkoff noticed that his lover's touch became more teasing than soothing. A hand smoothed its way down to his ass, as the fingers played along the curve between the mounds. Birkoff's breathing grew more shallow as the desire from earlier returned to him. Groaning lightly he asked, "Is it time to look?"

As answer to the query, Michael rose and allowed him to follow into the bathroom. At his Dom's command, he turned to the mirror with eyes closed.

Michael gazed at their reflection for a long moment before pulling Birkoff back against his own body. He gently eased the bandage away from the design. Ghosting his fingers over the line of the young man's body down to pass gently over the tattoo caused Birkoff to gasp loudly . . . but Michael knew that it was more from pleasure than pain because his lover pressed gladly back into his touch. Changing the direction of his caress, Michael pressed his hand firmly against the heat of Birkoff's rising cock.

Birkoff moaned, "Please sir. May I see it?"

Nibbling at the ear beneath his lips Michael replied, "It's beautiful . . . as are you." Chuckling at Birkoff's impatient sigh, he accented. "Open your eyes."

When first he saw the mark, Birkoff's mind held a false impression. It's as if through the cloud of high emotions and arousal, the tattoo looked less permanent that it was . . . like someone had drawn on his skin and it could be easily washed away. The thought was only fleeting but helped multiply the impact of full realization. Birkoff gripped Michael's hands tightly as he turned to see the entire design in the mirror. The signet letters intermeshed one above and to the side of the other, with the _M_ curved around and into the _D_ . . . each about two inches high so that the tattoo covered his skin, duplicating the size of Michael's palm. The black ink stood out sharply against the paleness of his skin . . . complete contrasts of light and dark. It was their entire time together made flesh. Everything that they'd done and been resting beautifully in permanence on his body, never to be taken away.

"Michael, it's both of us. Together." The awe in his voice matched the depth of emotions in his bright eyes.

For Michael, seeing the wonder in Birkoff's face was almost painful in its intensity. He wanted to grab hold of time so he could exult in the trust and love he saw before him. It was so close to the sense of having found a home in someone . . . a feeling he'd only ever known with Nikita. No. This . . . _they_ could not last beyond the realm of this shared experience. It was a finality they both accepted which was why he felt so heartened that Birkoff welcomed the symbol that had all but been forced upon his body. Even when they were parted, they would both know and have this to share.

Wanting to encapsulate the desire, Michael took his lover to his body. The kiss he bestowed was one of fierce possession. Birkoff responded with equal fire as the embrace continued til they stood breathless and in each other's arms. Easing back despite the disappointed moan that left Birkoff's lips, Michael moved over to the large tub. He started the water flowing and told his sub to sit upon the side. "We need to take care of you, luv." Lightly bathing Birkoff's hip with a small amount of soap and water, Michael gently cleaned the area before patting it dry. Bending down, he lightly kissed the skin just to the side of the tattoo. Kissing a path to his lover's navel, he smiled as the man's stomach moved in quickly with a gasp as his Dom licked around the small opening. Rising again, Michael ignored the flesh standing proud in response to his closeness. He took a large bottle of lotion from the side table . . . the one that he'd been told by the woman would be there on their return. Heavily coating his fingers, he returned to kneel at Birkoff's side and looked up into his lover's dilated pupils. The need within them was humbling.

"We have to coat the tattoo with lotion." He laughed warmly as Birkoff released a surprised moan when his hand moved not for his hip, but for his cock instead. "Shh . . . David. In a few minutes it'll be time, but mean while I've a mind to give you a reward." Reaching in to take those parted lips for his own, Michael continued to torment the hardness in his stroking hand. It didn't take long to make Birkoff writhe against him. He continued to bring his lover off as their tongues played into each other's mouths, gliding in a rhythm that matched the motion of Michael's hand.

Pulling back to catch a stray breath, Birkoff cried aloud. "Oh shit, sir. Please . . . yeah. Michael, please!"

As Michael quickened his pace, Birkoff raised his arms to clasp his shoulders. With a suddenness that caught him off guard, his sub jerked as Michael felt the rush of warmth over his hand. Hugging him to his chest, Michael rocked Birkoff slowly before he heard the whisper breathed quietly against his ear.

"Turn the water up, now."

The seriousness of Birkoff's tone broached no arguments. Michael first ran a wash rag over Birkoff and then himself before complying. Taking his lover back into his arms, the operative waited for Birkoff to speak.

With a whisper directly into Michael's ear, Birkoff continued. "He's hacking Red Cell. The data all leads to home."

Michael took a moment to digest the news as he drew back to kiss Birkoff. He could see the worry in his sub's face as he drew him back into a clinch. "Any leads to a specific target?"

"No. It's more of a stock pile for the highest bidder. No clue as to who might have won the toss."

Michael moved to nuzzle Birkoff's ear as he said, "This supervised hack for tomorrow might tell us more. Keep an eye out." Leaning back, he pressed a hand down the length of Birkoff's torso until he reached the hip. "Now for the lotion . . . lightly at first and then we'll use more as it heals." Smiling gently he added, "And no scratching, understood?"

Grinning in return Birkoff laughed, "Yes sir."

Covering the area thinly with lotion, Michael gave one final kiss before leading Birkoff back to the bed. Allowing his sub to remove his clothes, Michael pulled him to lay on his good side before curling up long Birkoff's back.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They'd were awakened only a few hours later. It was early morning, no more than five or so. Quickly emerging from the bed, Birkoff gingerly pulled on his pants before acknowledging the loud knock on the locked door. "We're awake, already." He watched Michael stepping into his pants as the door was opened.

Instead of finding Ivanoff as he'd expected, Misha was the man who stepped over the threshold. He placed their breakfast tray on a table before giving his instructions. "He wants you both to be ready to leave in one hour."

Michael asked, "Leave?"

Birkoff watched as Misha turned without reply to removed the lid of their tray. He moved to the table's side as Misha held out the cover. Birkoff was surprised to see the man's gaze deliberately move from his own, down to the cover and then back again. It was a quick signal, one hardly noticeable if he had not been the one looking into the man's eyes. Gesturing to the food Misha said, "Eat. Ivanoff will be with you soon." With a curt nod of his head, Misha left as abruptly as he'd come.

Acting as nonchalant as he could at having discovered the slip of paper the had been placed into his hand under the lid, Birkoff moved to kneel beside the table and await his Dom's desire. The few minutes it took for Michael to be seated and begin eating were nerve wracking. He held up the lid for Michael as his Dom placed food upon it for Birkoff's breakfast. Thanking him softly, the sub was allowed sit at his lover's feet while he ate. Occasionally, Michael would stroke his head or play with the line of his neck as they sat in silence. Keeping his head down, Birkoff was able to conceal his slight of hand as he moved the paper into view. His upper body, the table cloth and Michael's caressing hand gave him ample cover to read the small missive.

_Glass Curtain. Final intel transfer. One way trip. Section alerted. Be prepared._

After reading the words, Birkoff quickly found himself at a lost for appetite. As he replaced the lid upon the table, Birkoff waited for Michael to finish his meal. So many questions . . . Misha must be the originator for all of Section's knowledge on Ivanoff, so that explained the intel on Armand. But in such an environment, how would they not second guess the warning? And what did this trip entail? The best case scenario was that Section would step in, grab Ivanoff and everything would return to whatever sense of normality one would hold in Section's world. It also meant the end of Michael and his _David_.

When Michael bent to give him a brief kiss as had been their custom these pass days after breakfast, Birkoff clasped the hand that had curved around his neck tightly . . . pressing the paper into his partner's palm. Deepening their contact for what may be the last time, Birkoff savored the full taste of the man above him. Finally he drew away, placing his head on Michael's lap. He felt Michael lean over to nuzzle his throat and heard the slight rumple as his lover made to read the message in the crook between their heads.

Michael continued to sooth the nervous shivers he felt course through Birkoff's body. Humming softly into the young man's ear, the operative quickly tore the paper into small pieces. He kissed Birkoff's head before placing the tiny fragments into his own mouth so as to rid them of the danger of it's discovery. Rising up again in the chair, Michael continued to caress the back of Birkoff's head and neck . . . trying to convey a sense of comfort to strengthen him for the coming day.

Finally Michael brought Birkoff to his feet beside him. "Time to get dressed." Once more he stood by as his sub dressed first his Dom and then himself. Gently placing Birkoff's glasses back in place, Michael leaned in to kiss his forehead.

The moment was shattered by the beep of an unlocked and opening door. Ivanoff stomped in and with a gruff "Come," left out into the hall just as quickly as he'd arrived. With one last glance, they followed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This is not a test . . . hell, this is the real thing. Stuck under a damn van while bullets whizzed past like a wimp. Oh god. Where was Michael?

They been escorted to first a helicopter, then a van without one word as to their destination. Ivanoff remained aloof and preoccupied. Hours later they arrived at an indistinct facility housing a tech lab that could have rivaled Section One's own tactical resources. The building was heavily guarded inside and out by at least ten armed soldiers. Ivanoff was covering all his bases. Once inside, Birkoff was informed that all the intel he'd gathered had been already uploaded into the system's network. Ivanoff was at standby as Birkoff followed his instructions. What he discovered was the means to hack into a key encrypted database of Red Cell's most sensitive intel. If they made the connection, the data garnered could be enough to collapse the Cell's entire organization.

"Oh shit." Birkoff's whisper sounded loudly in the stillness of the room. He was so focused on the screens before him that he'd failed to notice Ivanoff had left his position.

"Oh shit indeed, Mr. Fiennes."

Birkoff jerked around to find that Ivanoff now held Michael at gunpoint. The operative was being restrained by two larger men on either side while their host trained an automatic weapon at his head.

"Michael. He's . . ."

Ivanoff interrupted, "Enough. There will be no defiance, boy. We've only got a narrow time frame in which to finish the job. The system is designed to shutdown once a hack has been discovered. You'll have a forty-two second window in which to work. Retrieve as much information as possible in that time. If you fail to make the connection, then your Dom will die." To demonstrate his seriousness, Ivanoff had one of his men crash their gun upside Michael's head sending the man to the floor. Once he appeared to be unconscious, the two stepped back as Ivanoff circled Michael's prone figure.

Birkoff made to rush to Michael but was stopped by Ivanoff's shoving him back towards his station. "Now, boy!"

Shaking as he looked back at Michael's still form and seeing the blood matted in his hair, Birkoff questioned him. "What guarantee do I have that you won't kill us both anyway?"

Ivanoff laughed harshly. "You have none. Only the knowledge that if you ask one more question, he'll get a bullet in the knee . . . one more moment of hesitation, a bullet to shatter both elbows." Seeing the horror on Birkoff's face, he laughed again. "I've told you that fate is a cruel mistress. We must all suffer in our turn. Now work!"

The next few minutes were a blur of flying hands and focused intent. Birkoff had never felt more driven by fear. He couldn't think beyond the realm of necessity as to what he'd do once the hack was completed. He just knew that he had to succeed or all was lost. Using the passwords provided by Ivanoff, he managed to link in and start the download. The seconds started winding down as the font of intel continued to flow. At thirty seconds, Birkoff felt his pulse thundering in his head. At twenty seconds, he subconsciously held his breath. At ten seconds, he chanced a desperate look Michael's way. At five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . . the world around them exploded. Literally.

One moment Birkoff was securing the intel and cutting off contact with Red Cell's system. The next moment, he saw Michael lunge upwards from the floor to crash into a distracted Ivanoff just as the doorway exploded inwards and Section Ops filled the room. Ivanoff's other men reacted instinctually against the threat, causing Birkoff to dive under the table. He decided that racing for the van would be his best chance to survive in the milieu of the fight. And so he found himself under the vehicle, trembling as he tried desperately to see what had happened to Michael.

Nikita.

Birkoff saw her across the room as she crouched in a corner. She was returning fire with the other mercenaries that had started invading the room at the sound of the explosion. His gladness at seeing her over-road any other emotions her presence represented for him. She loved Michael, would die to see him safe and that was enough.

_Michael._

He jerked in fright as the weight of a downed soldier hit the side of the van. The dead man's body slid to the floor, blocking Birkoff's view of the on-going fight. Taking a chance to grab the man's weapon, Birkoff moved towards the opposite side of the vehicle. He had to know if Michael was still alive.

The sight that greeted him as he rolled out from under the van was enough to almost stop his heart.

Michael, still stumbling from the earlier blow to the head, was fighting Ivanoff. The larger man was winning against the Section Op. He quickly had Michael down with a knife clutched between them, fighting to drive the instrument of death deep within the operative's chest. Seeing the man he loved so close to death, Birkoff reacted without thought. Raising the weapon, he aimed for Ivanoff as the man forced the knife's tip to within a fraction of an inch of its target. Not caring for his own safety, his lack of cover or the consequences of bringing down the man that Section wanted taken alive, Birkoff fired.

Ivanoff jerked backwards at the blow. Roaring in rage, he sung down to drive the knife home in Michael's chest in an attempt to take the man with him into death.

Again Birkoff fired and fired and fired. He watched Ivanoff being thrown sideways by the violence of the bullets' impact. Racing to Michael, he managed to kick away the knife from Ivanoff's dying hand. Michael lay unconscious, having passed out from the fight. As he knelt by his lover's side between the two men, Birkoff heard Ivanoff's strangled call. "Armand." Turning to see the man's face, he realized that in the man's state Ivanoff had confused him for his lost love. With one more whispered, "Armand," the man died.

"Birkoff."

Hearing his name spoken for the first time in days, he looked up from Michael's still form to see Nikita. Knowing that she only saw the blood on the side of their lover's head and that she feared the worst, he whispered, "He's alive."

Seeing the relief on her face increased the ever growing ache in his heart. The fight was over and the mission at an end.

Now for their return to Section One and his life without Michael. Birkoff awoke from his dream with his head bent and his eyes closed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"His motive wasn't money or power. It was revenge."

Birkoff listened to Madeline's words, hearing them as if through a vacuum.

Michael was still being examined by Section's medical crew, while he was being debriefed. Birkoff relayed all the pertinent facts in his report. Answered every question on cue, when asked. His voice held little to no emotions as he spoke and his face was a blank.

Madeline took in the automatronic responses to her queries that Birkoff presented. By all accounts he had not spoken to anyone upon returning to Section. He seemed to be moving through each minute as if in a state of complete shock. Shock at having a part of himself so suddenly removed.

"Revenge for what?" The question asked only because it seemed expected of him.

"Ivanoff discovered that Red Cell was in part responsible for Armand Devon's death. They apparently felt that he was a distraction for Ivanoff and therefore must be removed." Pausing to look up at Operations who was standing at her side, Madeline continued. "The intel would have been enough to destroy the foundations of Red Cell's terrorist network, but with the loss of both the intel and Ivanoff that won't be possible."

Birkoff felt their stares burning into his head. Strangely he didn't care that Madeline was implying that his over-reaction to Michael's imminent death was the caused of the mission's supposed failure . . . an action that was more than punishable by abeyance.

Operations advanced on him as he spoke with menace, "Birkoff. You're actions are inexcusable. You failed to deliver Ivanoff to us and were moreover the instrument of his death. What do you have to say for yourself?"

The tense silence of the room played on as Birkoff remained mute. Finally he rose slowly from his chair. Walking up to Madeline's desk, he removed a data disk from his coat pocket. Carefully placing it on her desk, he raised his eyes to meet their gazes. "I carded it just as the firing began. Red Cell is now yours."

Lowering his head, Birkoff failed to see the look that past between Operations and Madeline. He probably wouldn't have believed the frank surprise and calculating happiness that touched their faces, if he had been watching.

In a tone that bordered on barely suppressed glee, Operations managed to say, "Birkoff. You are dismissed."

Neither noticed as Birkoff slowly walked out the door.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

If he'd been anyone else but himself, Birkoff would never have believed just how little one would enjoy being the golden boy of Section One. He'd saved the day. Working tirelessly at tactical for hours on end as Operations and Madeline utilized the intel gathered to systematically disassemble Red Cell piece by piece, Birkoff blatantly strove to lose himself in the job. He didn't sleep unless ordered down and barely ate at all. He didn't talk off topic and avoided all outside contact with Walter and Nikita. Walter because he didn't feel like being asked about what had happened and Nikita because he didn't want the constant reminder that she represented of all that he'd lost . . .

And Michael . . .

Michael was back to being "Michael," again. The blank faced super agent was riding a wave of good fortune. Every mission seemed to be made to order . . . well planned, few surprises and meeting profile. They were rarely even in the same room together. When they were, each acted as though everything was as it had always been. Nothing passed between them but the air . . .

Until the touch.

The days had merged each into the next under the cloud of Red Cell's demise. Three weeks had passed since he'd killed Ivanoff. Birkoff continued through each day like a zombie and jerked awake each time he managed to find the strength to give into sleep, haunted by the scene of Michael's death . . . because each time he closed his eyes Michael lost his life by Ivanoff's hand. Again and again. He determined to say goodbye to sleep, being unable to face the nightmare one more time. Forty-eight hours later, Birkoff was on the verge of collapse. He hadn't eaten and could barely stand without leaning on the furniture. He was snapping at his people and making irrational comments that lacked foresight. Finally, Operations demanded that he stand down from his station. The sentence was three days down time . . . not negotiable.

"Three days," he whispered. That's how this all began. Three days in Michael's arms and in his bed. At the thought, Birkoff stumbled as he walked in a deserted corridor on the way to his rooms. A wave of dizziness swept through him as he suddenly felt himself pulled around a corner and into a darkened alcove.

"Michael, what . . ."

Not speaking, Michael pressed him back against the wall in an attempt to help Birkoff regain his sense of balance. Seeing the young man's vain struggle to hide the anguish that passed over his pale face, Michael's sense of protectiveness made him reach out in comfort.

But with the brush of Michael's hand over his hip everything darkened and Birkoff's world went black.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When next he opened his eyes, Birkoff found himself in familiar surroundings. He was in Michael's bed. Naked and in his bed . . .

"oh god"

Sitting up in circle of black sheets, Birkoff looked around for Michael. Hearing the man's footsteps, he turned as Michael entered the room. For the longest time they just looked at one another and didn't speak. Then Birkoff asked in a surprisingly angry tone, "Why, Michael? Why bring me here?"

Michael took in the flash of Birkoff's eyes followed by the wretched bending of the younger man's head and shoulders. Moving to stand by the bed, he spoke firmly. "Come to me."

With a harsh sound barely passing as a laugh, Birkoff replied. "David's dead, Michael. The mask has been lifted."

Reaching out to touch the curve of Birkoff's cheek, Michael lifted his head. "This isn't about David. It's about closure for you." Pausing as if to decide how much more he needed to reveal, Michael continued. "And for me . . ." Tracing the smooth line of Birkoff's mouth, Michael leaned in to kiss him.

Jerking back at the last second, Birkoff spoke a name as if in self-defense. "Nikita."

Choosing not to answer, Michael moved onto the bed . . . pressing Birkoff back into the covers with his own body. Speaking softly into his lover's ear, Michael said, "We need our goodbye."

Feeling the weight of this man once more over him, Birkoff's body burned at the touch of Michael's lips against his throat. Carding his hands through Michael's hair, the young man greedily drew their mouths together. Drowning in hunger, Birkoff roughly pulled his lover's black silk robe from his shoulders. He wanted to feel them skin to skin, the friction and impressed warmth almost as much a necessity at that moment as his own life's blood.

Breaking their kiss, Michael moved to removed the robe as he knelt beside Birkoff's legs. Drawing back the sheet that had pooled in Birkoff's lap during their embrace, he revealed every inch of skin in a slow deliberate tease. Finally having uncovered the flush of Birkoff's arousal, Michael reached forward to trace the lines that made up what had been their initials that covered his lover's hip. At hearing Birkoff's gasp, Michael raised his eyes from the beauty of their signet.

Birkoff fought to bite back the quiet tears that had escaped despite his arousal when his former Dom and lover had touched the tattoo. Whispering the words he'd wanted to share with Michael since their return, he said, "They wanted to remove it. Madeline said it would probably be best, but I . . . I refused."

Meeting the spark of determination in Birkoff's eyes, Michael commanded, "Tell me why."

"It was the only part of us that I could hold onto." Hearing the confessed love behind his own words, Birkoff rolled to his other side. His sudden need to block out the intensity of Michael's gaze was forgotten the moment he felt the full press of Michael's hardened body against his back. Birkoff moaned as Michael's tongue traced the line of his neck upwards to his ear. He felt the way the operative teasingly moved his cock against the smooth curves of his ass. Melting into their shared desire, Birkoff gave Michael one final gift. "Michael. Make love to me. Let me feel you once more."

Murmuring his acceptance, Michael set out to drive Birkoff mad with need. His hands covered every inch of his young lover's skin. He traced the smooth and the rough textures, both with his fingers and lips. Playing with Birkoff's nipples for the longest time, he alternated between licks and sweet nips as they pointed expectantly up into his tongue. He took each sigh, moan and cry into his soul . . . seeking to increase their volume by ten fold.

When at last he begged for more, Birkoff felt Michael raise one of his legs with his own. He was opened and completely exposed to the motion of Michael's pleasuring hands. Birkoff not only felt but strove to absorb each sensation into his flesh as those strong fingers moved within him. Having not been active for weeks, he proved a tight fit as Michael worked to prepare the way. Groaning as the burn increased his own fevered pitch, Birkoff cried out as the digits brushed against his prostate. He moved back into the smooth deep motion of Michael's hand, feeling it deeply as the third finger found purchase in his heat.

"Michael. Oh please, now. I want you in me."

Michael held him firmly against his chest as he entered at Birkoff's desperate plea. Groaning fiercely as the flesh encompassed his hardened cock, Michael held firmly to Birkoff as they slowly merged their flesh into one. Letting his lover have a moment to adjust to having him within, Michael moved a hand down to Birkoff's cock. He varied his strokes as he began to move into Birkoff.

Birkoff lost himself in their rhythm. He pressed forward and back, each time not knowing which sensation he wanted more . . . the fevered strokes of pleasure coming from Michael's hand or the fullness and heat of Michael's possession. Crying out as their movements became more frantic, Birkoff urged Michael to take them both over the edge. When at last he felt he could not survive one more moment on the precipice, Birkoff spasmed in joy. He called out to Michael as the warmth spread through his veins and over his lover's fingers. Hearing Michael's answering cry of "Birkoff!" . . . he gasped as his lover jerked both inside him and against his back in response to his own release.

For several minutes to follow, the room's silence was only broken by the quietening sound of deep breaths and the sighs of the truly sated. Birkoff moaned as Michael moved from his body to remove the condom, before returning to take him back into his arms. Their time was ending just as the dawn broke through the loft windows. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep before waking in Michael's bed, but now he felt stronger for having found rest in this most precious domain. He closed his eyes as Michael thoughtfully traced over the mark once more. Birkoff found comfort in knowing that they would always have this moment to look back on and remember.

Rolling over to kiss the man who had shown him so much of his nature, Birkoff pushed back the damp tendrils of Michael's hair. Holding his gaze Birkoff asked, "What color is the veil now?"

His heart was gladdened by the small smile that touched Michael's lips and eyes. But it was the words that followed that sealed his resolve to live in the joy of their shared moments and not to wallow in the despair of no longer having that which he could never have kept.

"The veil slipped between us in the moment that this was created." Michael moved down to kiss the signet in reverence to its symbolism. Sitting up, he watched as Birkoff smiled in return. The young man traced on hand down the length of Michael's side, from shoulder to waist, before slowly rising from the bed. Meeting Birkoff's eyes, Michael stood as well. He quietly helped dress his former lover in a reversal of their old ritual. Once Birkoff stood before him fully clothed, Michael took his face in hand. He pressed the sweetest of kisses on first both of Birkoff's eyes, followed by the nose . . . before taking his mouth one final time. Slowly drawing back after a few moments, he rested his forehead against Birkoff's own.

He listened as Birkoff confessed quietly, "I love you."

"Thank you."

Birkoff smiled as he remembered that that had been Michael's response the first time he'd said those words. He felt the caress of Michael's hand over the curve of his hip as he raised his eyes to meet those of the man before him. Looking his full . . . Birkoff as last spoke in reply.

"Thank you for our goodbye."

With those words, Michael watched as the brilliant, brave young man he had so come to cherish and admire left his side . . . knowing that Birkoff would always have a place in his heart.

 

Finis


End file.
